


something to do with hands

by orphan_account



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Coming Out, Explicit Sexual Content, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Grinding, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Multiple, Polyamory, Relationship Study, Wet Dream, first kiss pt 2: san edition
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-02-26 12:37:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 31,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22779736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It all starts with Jung Wooyoung and a late night of practice. “I want to tell you guys something,” he says quietly when they step inside the dorm, twirling a pen between his fingers and looking contemplative, and from across the room, Hongjoong makes careful eye contact with Seonghwa.(Things like love and sex are painfully complicated when idol life is thrown into the mix. Working it out between eight boys is tough—but Hongjoong prides his group on being stubborn, and he'll keep pushing.)
Relationships: Choi San/Jeong Yunho, Choi San/Jung Wooyoung, Everyone/Everyone, Jung Wooyoung/Kang Yeosang, Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa
Comments: 113
Kudos: 443





	1. evening

**Author's Note:**

> the polyam ot8 fic i've been contemplating since i got into ateez is here! updates will be irregular, & while a lot of it is sex-focused there's supposed to be character development among other things... somewhere... hopefully...? (read: there is a lot of both.)
> 
> tags will update as the story goes on. this is just my way of exploring & learning about their dynamics while continuously getting stuff done. enjoy! (also, for readers here since chapter one, i did change my username!)

It all starts with Jung Wooyoung and a late night of practice for their upcoming tour. “I want to tell you guys something,” he says quietly when they step inside the dorm, twirling a pen between his fingers and looking contemplative, and from across the room, Hongjoong makes careful eye contact with Seonghwa. “Is that okay? I can wait until tomorrow.”

“No, go ahead,” Hongjoong says encouragingly, setting his bag on the ground and sitting on the couch, patting the space next to him for Wooyoung to take a seat. The other members shuffle in slowly, looking tired and disinterested as they take their jackets and shoes off. Seonghwa turns on the lights and sits down on the other side of Wooyoung, rolling his eyes when San pouts at him.

Wooyoung takes a deep breath. In between his leader and oldest member, Wooyoung’s presence seems… oddly small. He’s clearly in his own head, thinking through what he wants to say as he curls his fingers through San’s dark hair from where he’s made his temporary home on the floor. Deep down, Hongjoong wonders what announcement he’s going to make that warrants such a tense atmosphere, but he lets Wooyoung take his time.

“Okay, this is a bit awkward,” Wooyoung mutters, before straightening up. A hot spark of worry hits Hongjoong at the faraway look in Wooyoung’s eyes, but then he steels himself and says—

“Um, I’m bisexual.”

It goes deadly silent. Yeosang, previously half-dozing off on Seonghwa’s shoulder, straightens up. In between Wooyoung’s legs, San goes very still. Both Yunho and Mingi look at him with wide eyes, and Jongho clears his throat.

Wooyoung’s already curling in on himself when Seonghwa springs to action and says, “Wooyoung, that’s totally fine.”

The breath caught in Hongjoong’s lungs finally releases, and he throws an arm around Wooyoung’s shoulder and says, “Thank you for trusting us enough to tell us, Wooyoung. Seriously—”

“Wooyoungie!” San exclaims softly, turning around and resting his head on the dark-haired boy’s knee. “We love you no matter what, of course!”

“Yeah,” Yunho pipes up, “this is obviously something really big, but you’re still Wooyoung!”

Wooyoung looks up at the ceiling, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip. “No, I know,” he says, voice shaking, “I—I know. But it shouldn’t be that important, I—trust you guys and everything, I just knew I couldn’t keep this in. And so I had to tell you, so if you don’t support it or anything, let me know—”

“Jung Wooyoung,” Hongjoong interrupts, voice firm, and he smooths his hand over the younger boy’s shoulder in a silent apology when Wooyoung flinches on instinct. “Of _ course _ we support you. We already knew and loved you before you told us—this is just something new, but like Yunho said, you’re still our Wooyoung. And if anyone—” Here, he glances around at the rest of the members, his gaze piercing enough to make both Mingi and Jongho gulp and drop their eyes to their laps. “If anyone doesn’t support you, they can come out about it now.”

“We all support you, Wooyoung,” Mingi says, and Yeosang nods, reaching over Seonghwa’s lap to intertwine their fingers. San nuzzles further into his knee, and Yunho crawls closer to sit next to San. Mingi picks up the pillow he’d been crading in his lap and sits on the floor in between Hongjoong’s legs, and after a moment, Jongho stands and sits next to Yeosang. 

There’s way too much body heat, and that combined with the fact that none of them have actually showered since getting back makes Hongjoong want to wrinkle his nose. But Wooyoung—he’s getting teary-eyed, which is _ such _ an odd sight to see in general because he _ never _ cries. The way he looks down at San before looking over at Yunho, reaching out to grasp the taller boy’s outstretched hands—it makes Hongjoong want to cry too, as pathetic as it is.

He loves these people. He is so eternally grateful that they decided to join him on this journey. And Wooyoung coming out isn’t a road bump of any kind—it’s more like an opening. An opening for something new, clearly, judging by the way Seonghwa proceeds to take a deep breath and say, “Actually, uh, I’ve been meaning to say this for a while. But yeah, I’m… also that. Bisexual, I mean.”

Hongjoong’s heart instantly tries to fling itself out of his chest and into his throat. Cue the shocked silence once more, this time cut short by an aborted sob from Wooyoung as he says, “_Hyung_. I—I didn’t even know, thank you for telling us—”

“Please don’t cry,” Seonghwa whispers hoarsely as he cradles Wooyoung’s face and tugs him into his chest, tucking his chin over his shoulder. And then he makes eye contact with Hongjoong, and the look of pure vulnerability in his eyes as he blinks away tears makes Hongjoong crack.

“_Fuck_,” he hisses, pressing his palms to his eyes. “You guys, I seriously love you. It doesn’t matter what you identify as, but thank you for trusting us—trusting _ me_, too—with all of this, because I know it’s hard. But we all support and love you here.”

Wooyoung’s shoulders shake with sobs, and San gets up to drape himself over the younger boy, a pout permanently stuck on his face. “Don’t cry, Wooyoungie,” he murmurs into his neck, and Woooung stifles yet another sob to wrap an arm around him.

“I’m fine,” he mutters. “I’m just. These are happy tears, you know?”

“Yeah,” Seonghwa agrees, wiping tears away. “Yeah. Love you guys.”

“We love you too, hyung,” Jongho says sweetly, patting his head in a way that would seem condescending in any other context but just feels welcoming now. Accepting. 

Hongjoong didn’t think his chest could ache this much, but apparently there are first times for everything under the sun.

“I might as well say it now, too,” Yeosang pipes up from next to Seonghwa. “I don’t really care to define my attraction to people, but I’m definitely somewhere on the spectrum.”

“Oh, same!” Mingi agrees cheerfully, leaning into Hongjoong’s hand when he smooths it over the back of his neck. “Yeah, I don’t, like, _ identify _ as anything… but everyone’s hot to me.”

At this, they all have to stifle their laughs, even Wooyoung. “That’s such a you thing to say,” Yunho says, and Mingi just beams.

“So half of us are some form of LGBT?” Jongho pipes up carefully after another moment of silence. “Seonghwa hyung, Wooyoung hyung, Yeosang hyung and Mingi hyung… anyone else going to come out?”

“Are _ you _ gonna come out?” Yeosang shoots back playfully, and Jongho blushes, leaning back on the couch.

“I mean, no,” he says slowly, averting his gaze when Mingi laughs.

“This isn’t a big deal, though, is it?” San says, attempting to pull away and smiling at Wooyoung when he protests by dragging him back in. “I mean, it’s just a part of you guys. I don’t expect things to be… different.”

“Of course,” Hongjoong agrees firmly. “Nothing to worry about. I’m just happy we’re able to be open about it with each other.

“Well, obviously,” Seonghwa says. His voice is still hoarse, and the way he gives Hongjoong a soft, quiet smile makes a part of him do—_something_. He isn’t quite sure what it is. “We’ve known each other for so long now. It’s only natural that we’d be comfortable. Right, Wooyoungie?”

“Yeah,” Wooyoung says, sitting up properly with red eyes and San solidly stuck to him. “Eight makes one team and all.”

“Exactly!” Hongjoong beams at his team—the people who gave him a chance to follow his dreams with shaky footsteps, and they look back at him with something like love. “Eight makes one _ family_. That’s what matters.”

So it starts rather unceremoniously—the subject gets dropped as soon as they all disperse for some well-needed rest, the tension mostly gone by the time Mingi comes down for breakfast last-second the next morning and says, “Hello, gays and gentlemen!”

“Jesus Christ,” Yunho mutters under his breath, but he’s smiling into his cup of tea. “Good morning, Mingi.”

Mingi flashes him a bright wink and leans down to kiss his forehead, and Yunho goes bright red, sputtering as the rest of the members laugh and point fingers.

Essentially, everything goes back to normal. Bless the fact that their group has always been overly affectionate—it’s not like Wooyoung and Mingi don’t already spend half of their time climbing all over the other members. Hongjoong has to admit it makes it all a million times easier, especially when the members who came out joke about it like it’s nothing.

It’s comfortable. It’s nice. There’s also been something itching at him as days pass, of course, and Hongjoong is fully, one hundred percent aware of what it is. But that doesn’t mean he’ll talk about it, or _ ever _ bring it up. He won’t even entertain the thought itself.

(It’s in the way Seonghwa nags him into taking better care of himself. It’s in the way he looks at Hongjoong and the rest of the members with something like genuine warmth in his gaze. It’s the fact that he’s _ always _ been like this, and Hongjoong’s simply been extra sensitive to it lately. It leaves an uneasy feeling settled into the pit of his stomach, one he doesn’t want to acknowledge.)

♡

“When did you realize you were bisexual?” San asks suddenly, voice still hoarse from sleep. He’s sitting on the edge of Yeosang’s unmade bed, shirtless and bare-faced as he drags his fingers through his hair. Wooyoung stops scrolling through his phone and carefully squints up at his friend.

It’s been a solid week since Wooyoung came out (and subsequently, Seonghwa, Yeosang and Mingi as well). Apart from Jongho approaching him the next morning and making Wooyoung want to slap him upside the head (“Hyung,” he’d said as he grabbed leftover rice from the fridge, “I could totally tell you were into guys. What do they call it? A gaydar?”), things had been totally normal—no words of pity, no side comments… nothing homophobic. Not like he’d ever consider the thought of his members being like _ that_—he’s known them for far too long—but the involuntary, irrational anxiety had lurked under the surface for a few days anyway.

He’s especially happy nothing’s changed about his relationship with San in particular. While he’s always been touchy with the members in general, he and San definitely cling to each other the most. But San hasn’t given a single indication of awkwardness whenever he came to give Wooyoung a hug or cuddles in general—hasn’t even mentioned anything until now, actually.

“Hm,” Wooyoung hums, still thinking through his response. “Who’s asking?”

“Shiber is,” San replies dryly, and Wooyoung snickers. “Hey, take me seriously! I’m asking you a question here.”

“No, I know,” Wooyoung says placatingly, rolling over and setting his phone on the nightstand. San takes his time slipping his feet into his slippers and then looks over at Wooyoung expectantly. His gaze is piercing—it’s _ always _ piercing, but in the low light of early morning and a dim lamp eclipsing him from behind, his stare is intense. Wooyoung barely manages to keep eye contact before he’s instinctively staring at the side wall instead. “If I’m gonna be honest, it was Yeosang.”

San immediately frowns in confusion. “Wait, what?”

Wooyoung laughs. He’d been expecting that. “Yeah. It was Yeosang.”

San blinks at him and leans forward. Several different emotions flicker across his face, none of which Wooyoung can get a proper read on. “Yeosang was your bisexual awakening, you mean?”

“Kind of.” Wooyoung wraps his arms around his pillow and rolls over onto his back, closing his eyes. “It’s not like I had a life-changing crush on him or anything. He just made me reconsider some things… if that makes sense.” He pauses. “It was back when we were Bighit trainees.”

“Oh,” San says, voice flat, and then he says—“Aw, so is _ that _ why you left and followed after him once he came to KQ?”

“Hey, shut up!” Wooyoung snaps, throwing his pillow at San, who throws his head back to laugh and tosses the pillow right back at him. “That isn’t how it went, okay?”

San scrunches his nose up cutely. “Don’t worry, I’m just teasing you. That’s actually pretty sweet.” He gets up to rummage for a shirt, asking, “Do you still…?”

“No, no,” Wooyoung says quickly. “Not anymore, I think. And I never told him, either. Honestly, I think I just liked him because he was super pretty and kind of a bitch.”

“Not anymore… you think?” San says slowly.

Wooyoung deadpans. “Is that really all you heard?”

“Was just wondering,” San murmurs, suddenly looking a little shy as he slips a baggy t-shirt on. “I don’t mean to push you.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Wooyoung says easily, and San smiles as he climbs into Wooyoung’s bed, letting him rest his head on San’s shoulder. “Why’d you ask, though? Just curious? You've never talked about it before.”

San is quiet for a moment. “I don’t know,” he mutters after a moment. “Again, I was just wondering. Like—it’s cool. It’s fine. I was just thinking, it seems like something kinda hard to come to terms with. Especially in a society like ours. Does that make sense?”

Wooyoung hums. “You’re definitely right. At the same time, though, my family’s always been accepting? So it wasn’t… it wasn’t too hard.”

“I guess,” Say says contemplatively, and then—“Damn, I’m so tired right now.”

Wooyoung snickers. “Then go to sleep, Sannie.”

“We need to go to practice,” he murmurs, even as he snuggles further into the bed, his grip on Wooyoung’s shoulders tightening. The warm rush of _ something _ Wooyoung feels at the contact makes him want to snuggle in further, but he holds himself back, content with the warmth of San’s body heat and the puffs of breath against the top of his head.

“We can get an extra twenty minutes if we skip breakfast,” he negotiates.

San huffs out a laugh. “Sounds pretty self-destructive. Let’s do it.”

Wooyoung smiles to himself, giving in and curling into San as much as he possibly can while the older boy adjusts so they’re both in the middle of the bed. Minutes pass, wherein Wooyoung falls into a weird in-between state of asleep and awake, only registering warmth and skin where he and San meet.

Of course, the moment’s broken all too soon.

“I thought your alarms went off at least fifteen minutes ago,” Yeosang says from the doorway, looking mildly disgruntled as he runs his fingers through his hair, and Wooyoung feels the no-more-sleep-depression sink in at the way Yeosang beckons at them to get up. “We have practice. Go shower.”

“I don’t _ want _ to,” San whines. His arms tighten around Wooyoung when he starts to pull away, and Wooyoung feels his face heat up for no reason at all. _ They do this all the time. _ Even though it’s not normally like this—it’s never a big deal. Wooyoung lets himself be manhandled until he’s laying on top of San, the older boy wrapping his legs around Wooyoung’s waist to keep him there, and Wooyoung has to bury his face in San’s neck to hide his embarrassment. “We’re sleepy. Five more minutes.”

It takes Yeosang a moment to respond. “Hongjoong hyung’ll kick your asses if you don’t get up now.”

“Five more minutes, Yeosangie,” Wooyoung says pleadingly. “We’ll get up and shower, promise.”

“Whatever,” says Yeosang, sounding a bit petulant as he steps back out of their room. “I _ will _ throw Mingi at you guys if you don’t listen, though.”

San winces. “Uh, yeah. No need for that.”

Once Yeosang shuts the door, San’s grip on him loosens, and Wooyoung rolls away. San snickers at him when he almost rolls off the bed. Wooyoung glares. “What was that for?”

“What was what for?” San asks, deceptively innocent as he gives Wooyoung a catlike smile. 

“Stop playing dumb,” Wooyoung says, slapping San’s arm lightly. “That was the weirdest cuddle position _ ever_.”

San blinks at him with an unreadable look on his face. “Are you uncomfortable with it?”

“No,” Wooyoung says quickly, even as his face heats further. “It’s not a big deal. I just, um—Yeosang looked weirded out.”

“Not his problem,” San says dismissively after staring at him for a few more moments. “Get off the bed and go shower. Want me to join you?”

“Only if you want,” Wooyoung says teasingly, and San slaps his butt none too gently in revenge when he stands up. “Hey, fuck you!”

“If you wanted to so bad, all you needed to do was ask,” San replies coyly, laughing when Wooyoung’s jaw drops open. “Come on, come on, I was joking. Go get a shower. I’ll make coffee.”

San leaves the room with a smirk on his face, blowing Wooyoung a kiss, and Wooyoung finds himself zoning out for a few moments. That entire thing was… kind of intense. A trademark of San’s, but still.

He shouldn’t read too much into it. It’s not like San came out that night, and it’s not like he seems to have any intention of doing so. Wooyoung wipes the thoughts from his mind and goes to look for his towel, a funny feeling swimming in his stomach.

“Do you think it’s weird that I find some of the members hot? But in a platonic way, most of the time?” Wooyoung says after he and Yeosang finish their routine, turning off the music before running back to where Yeosang stands. Yeosang turns sharp eyes on him at the question, calculating for a moment before he looks back at himself through the mirror, rolling his sleeves up and catching his breath.

“Rule one of being LGBT,” Yeosang says dryly. “Your same-sex friends are attractive _ because _ you feel like you have to find them attractive.”

Wooyoung sighs harshly, running a hand through his hair. “You’re right, but you don’t need to say it, okay?”

Yeosang rolls his eyes. “With the way you’ve been acting around San lately, I think I _ do _ need to say it.”

Wooyoung whips his head around to face Yeosang, who examines his nails like he didn’t just open his mouth to say—_that_. The practice room’s lights are bright enough to glint off of the older boy’s long blonde hair and make him look paler than he already is, but in his black turtleneck shirt and jeans, he still looks unfairly impressive. 

“What do you mean?” Wooyoung asks, too slow and a beat off from how quickly he normally fires back at Yeosang’s jabs. 

Yeosang looks up at him through the mirrors, gaze unreadable. “I don’t know, Wooyoung,” he says easily. “What _ did _ I mean?”

Wooyoung opens his mouth, and then closes it. Stares back at Yeosang for a few moments longer, and then—“How do you think I’ve been acting around San?”

“Like a lovesick puppy, or something equally disgusting,” Yeosang says, but not unkindly. He’s just stating a fact. But he says it in a rush of breath, like it’s something he’s been pondering for a while, and that doesn’t sit right with Wooyoung in the slightest. “I mean, you’re both clingy, but it gets to be a bit… _ much _ after a while.”

“That’s homophobic,” Wooyoung says by way of loosening the odd sort of tension in the room. Yeosang rolls his eyes and smiles.

“It’s the truth.” He turns to face Wooyoung fully, running a hand through his hair, and Wooyoung’s struck for the millionth time by how devastatingly naturally _ gorgeous _ Yeosang is. “So, what’s up with you two?”

Wooyoung feels fidgety under the solid weight of Yeosang’s gaze. In moments like these, it’s hard to forget how badly he used to crush on him. “Nothing’s up,” he says, pursing his lips when Yeosang raises a suspicious eyebrow. “I’m being serious! At least, I don’t _ think _ anything’s been happening. He’s acting a little more intense than usual—”

“A little,” Yeosang says flatly. “As in what, exactly? Clinging to you twenty-four-seven? Making jealous faces whenever Seonghwa fools around with you? Or any member, at that?”

“San’s just like that!” Wooyoung points out, scowling. “He’s, like, a little possessive. But that’s fine. It doesn’t bother me, and I like that he trusts me enough to hang around me often.”

“That’s _ so _ weird,” Yeosang says bluntly. “What do you mean _ he trusts you enough? _”

“You know what I mean!” Wooyoung exclaims. Yeosang blinks at him, raising a careful eyebrow, and he sighs. “Okay, I don’t really know how to explain it. But it’s totally fine. We’re both clingy. Does it bother you?”

Yeosang finally drops his gaze. “Whatever,” he says.

“Don’t avoid the question,” Wooyoung accuses, and Yeosang rolls his eyes. “God, I _ hate _ when you do that.”

“Do what?” Yeosang says challengingly.

It’s like this one stilted conversation, practically made for failure from the beginning, unleashes something in Wooyoung that he hadn’t even known existed, and he throws his hands up angrily. “Do _ that! _ ” He exclaims. “Getting all passive aggressive and then refusing to answer any of my questions. You do that _ all _ the damn time. Why are you so bothered by San, anyway, huh? Because you’re jealous? Is that it?”

Something flashes in Yeosang’s eyes. “Don’t start with that,” he practically snaps. His tone of voice is a barbed edge, and Wooyoung flinches. Yeosang continues anyway. “I’m your friend of how many years now, Wooyoung? Of course I’d be a little sad that you seem to like hanging around San way more than you like hanging around me.”

The admission makes his eyes widen. “I thought you were joking about it when you said that on broadcast,” he whispers.

Yeosang snorts. “Of course, Wooyoung. You think everything’ll work out, so you don’t need to worry about it.”

“Stop that,” Wooyoung says harshly. “Look, Sangie, let’s just—let’s just stop arguing. It isn’t going to get us anywhere. I’m sorry for making you feel like San’s more important to you than me, okay? You know I don’t mean to do it. You—we’ve been friends for far too long for me to just drop you like that. I’m sorry I haven’t been showing it well lately.”

Yeosang closes his eyes and breathes in slowly. “I’m sorry, too,” Yeosang murmurs. “I know we’re opposites in terms of interests and all that, so I… shouldn’t be surprised that you’re drawn to San so easily. You two act alike. It makes sense. I don’t even know where all this is coming from, too, I… thought I came to terms with it a while ago.”

Something in Wooyoung’s chest aches. “Please don’t feel that way,” he whispers, stepping forward to take Yeosang’s hands in his own. He doesn’t miss the way his best friend flinches and then stiffens, staring at somewhere past Wooyoung, and it only makes him feel more guilt. “I’m not good at this. I’m sorry.”

Yeosang meets his eyes. Suddenly the practice room feels stuffy with something, and Wooyoung tightens his grip on Yeosang’s hands. “Don’t worry about it,” he says, voice quiet and low and thrumming with an emotion Wooyoung can’t place. “It’s not your fault.”

“It totally is,” Wooyoung protests, yelping when Yeosang drags him into a hug. “Woah! Since when have you liked skinship?”

“It totally is your fault,” Yeosang agrees, pressing his lips to Wooyoung’s hair, and Wooyoung shivers. “And I don’t know. Maybe you’re rubbing off on me.”

Wooyoung snorts. They stand like that for a few moments, exhaustion seeping into their bones, and Wooyoung revels in Yeosang’s warmth. They haven’t hugged like this in… a while. It makes him sad, knowing he might’ve been neglecting someone important to him.

Wooyoung’s always been a social butterfly with an infinite social battery life. But it also means he hops around a lot—physically clingy to one person one day, before doing the same to another person the next. He’s aware of it. He just didn’t think he’d be doing it to his best friend of six years.

“I love you,” Wooyoung says impulsively into the skin of Yeosang’s neck, where sweat still gleams. He doesn’t think he imagines Yeosang’s quiet shiver. “I’d follow you anywhere.”

“Don’t say stuff like that,” Yeosang murmurs, voice shaky. “We should—head back.”

“Yeah,” Wooyoung says. When Yeosang pulls away, he leans in quick and presses his lips to Yeosang’s cheek—

Except Yeosang turns his face away reflexively, and his lips land somewhere on the corner of Yeosang’s mouth.

They both freeze. Wooyoung pulls away quickly, eyes wide, and Yeosang lets out a ragged breath of air Wooyoung hadn’t even noticed he’d been holding. “You—” Yeosang starts, before falling into silence, blinking rapidly.

“Fuck,” Wooyoung whispers. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

He’s definitely imagining the way Yeosang’s expression shutters in on itself. He drags a hand over his face before turning around and grabbing his bag. “We should really head back,” he says, and Wooyoung flinches as he begins to walk towards the door. “I told Seonghwa hyung we’d only be away for a little while.

Wooyoung’s expecting the small voice at the back of his head screaming _ you need to stay, we need to talk_, but what he doesn’t expect is the rush of sudden, overwhelming _ want _ aching through his fingertips. The urge to reach out and drag Yeosang back to do—_something_, Wooyoung doesn’t know what—is so strong it nearly hurts, but then Yeosang’s looking back at him quizzically with an arched brow, opening the door and stepping out into the hallway, and Wooyoung loses his chance to the wind.

♡

“You know how I said everything was going really well?” Hongjoong says tiredly when he steps into the room he’s shared with Seonghwa since before their debut, dropping his backpack onto the ground. It’s three AM, and Seonghwa is unsurprisingly still awake, scrolling through his phone from the top bunk and raising an eyebrow at Hongjoong’s rhetorical question.

In the past, Hongjoong would have gotten angry at Seonghwa’s blatant motherly tactics. He’d yelled at the older boy once when he came back to the dorms from the studio at four AM and Seonghwa had been casually relaxing on the couch with his laptop out like it wasn’t almost morning, eyes softening when he caught sight of Hongjoong, but now the thought of Seonghwa waiting for him—making sure he got home safe—leaves him with something warm and appreciative bubbling in his chest that he doesn’t really want to acknowledge.

“Hello to you too. What do you mean?” Seonghwa says, voice low and soft and imploring. 

“You know, with the kids,” Hongjoong says. He relaxes into the desk chair and watches Seonghwa climb down from his bunk gracefully, dark hair bouncing with every movement until he’s sitting on the corner of Hongjoong’s neatly made bed. “I—you guys came out only a couple of weeks ago, right?”

Seonghwa stiffens slightly but nods. “Yeah,” he says slowly. “Are you talking about the way everyone’s been acting around each other ever since?”

“Ding ding,” Hongjoong says dryly. He chooses his next words carefully. Even though he’s been painfully blunt with Seonghwa sometimes, occasionally stepping over boundaries he’d accidentally turned a blind eye to, Seonghwa’s always been understanding and patient—almost infuriatingly so—but Hongjoong really, really doesn’t want to say anything that’ll make him uncomfortable. “Things have been… weird.”

“I agree,” Seonghwa says contemplatively. “I was expecting it, however. The other day Wooyoung and Yeosang came back from practice and they both looked… troubled. Wouldn’t talk to me about it, either.”

“Exactly,” Hongjoong says, wringing his fingers together and turning away from the soft lamplight in a poor attempt at willing his headache away. “And that one time I asked Yeosang to get Wooyoung and San, he looked frustrated. And San’s been acting weird, too. Also, just a few days ago, Yunho came out of Mingi’s room looking seriously upset.”

Seonghwa stares down at his hands. “That can’t be good.”

“Obviously.” Hongjoong snorts and shakes his head. “I feel like we should have a conversation about _ how _ exactly we could be going about this, but at the same time—”

“Starting up that conversation might only increase tensions,” Seonghwa finishes for him, and Hongjoong tries not to blush at the way Seonghwa’s eyes pierce straight through him. This isn’t the time.

It’s _ never _ the time, of course. Hongjoong didn’t come out that night, but it’s not as though he’s ever really… _ cared _ about any sort of preference between guys and girls. He still doesn’t think that excuses the rush of emotion he feels looking at Seonghwa in the low light of their lamp’s soft, dim glow. He doesn’t think it excuses the fact that some part of him revels in the idea of being the only one to see Seonghwa like this constantly—softened around the edges and warmer, kinder than he already is, even as he looks at Hongjoong patronizingly for not getting enough sleep.

“We don’t need more tension,” Hongjoong says after a brief pause that has Seonghwa squinting at him. “Sorry, I’m just tired.”

“You need to rest more,” Seonghwa murmurs kindly. God, his voice is _ so low_. It feels like he’s seeping into Hongjoong’s skin, making him loose-lipped and sleepy even though he’s pulled all-nighters like this all the time. “We can think about this in the morning, if you’d like.”

“It’s not about what I want,” Hongjoong says with a scowl. “Or need, or whatever. I’m getting a bit worried, you know?”

“I know,” Seonghwa says softly. “If telling everyone what I identify as was a… convenience of any sort, I’m sorry.”

Hongjoong narrows his eyes at Seonghwa, softening up immediately when the older boy curls in on himself. “Don’t _ ever _ say that,” he hisses, and Seonghwa flinches. “Fuck, sorry. But Hwa, you—I’m _ glad _ you told us. I’m glad Wooyoung and Yeosang and Mingi everyone did too. It’s a natural thing you can’t control. If any of the other members are uncomfortable with it, which I doubt—”

“I know they’re not uncomfortable with it,” Seonghwa says wearily, like he’d been expecting this. “I know you’re not uncomfortable with it either. But growing up with something you’re supposed to hide by society’s standards and then coming out about it—unplanned, too—it’s hard. I can’t help but feel too vulnerable.”

Hongjoong aches with a need to reach out to Seonghwa. He doesn’t. All he says is, “I’m bisexual too.”

Seonghwa blinks at him. “Wait, what?”

“Yeah.” Now that it’s out, something crawls underneath Hongjoong’s skin that makes him want to get up and leave the room. The weight of Seonghwa’s startled but heavy gaze is the only thing keeping him pinned to his chair. “Um, I figured it out pretty early. I didn’t have a name for it until a few years ago, though. So you definitely aren’t alone here. Yunho, San and Jongho are super supportive too, they just—it’s the fact that we aren’t communicating with each other that’s made the past few weeks so weird, you know?”

Seonghwa studies him for another moment. There’s only a few feet between them, and Hongjoong’s breath hitches when Seonghwa narrows his eyes before looking him up to his platinum hair and down to the ratty, torn-up sneakers he only ever wears to the studio, and Hongjoong finds himself blushing brightly again, ears burning.

The moment is over as quickly as it begins. “Thank you so much for telling me,” he says slowly, voice dropping into a breathy half-whisper, and Hongjoong looks away. “Does anyone else know?”

“My mom knows. It’s not a big deal to me,” Hongjoong mutters. “That isn’t the point though. Do you think this is—something we should talk about with the kids?”

A soft small graces itself on Seonghwa’s features, curling his lips upward. He looks at Hongjoong like Hongjoong personally hung the moon himself. It makes his stomach churn with something intensely aggressive. “We should, and we will,” he says. “For now, let’s go to sleep, okay?”

“Alright,” Hongjoong says, defeated as he stands up, and Seonghwa giggles in triumph. He helps Hongjoong get ready for bed quietly, leaving a bottle of painkillers and a glass of water on the nightstand next to their bunk bed, and when Hongjoong is about to climb onto his mattress, Seonghwa encircles his wrist with his fingers and tugs him into a hug. Hongjoong’s head fits into the crook of Seonghwa’s shoulder perfectly, and Seonghwa presses his lips to Hongjoong’s forehead fleetingly.

“I’ll wake you up for breakfast,” he promises, eyes lingering on Hongjoong’s form before he begins climbing up the ladder, waving him a goodnight.

Hongjoong tosses and turns in bed for a while longer, even as Seonghwa begins to snore softly. The imprint of the older boy’s plush lips on his forehead nearly burns, and Hongjoong falls asleep to dark, intense eyes and lips curled up into a caring, forgiving smile.

“Hongjoong,” Seonghwa says quietly, breathily, leaning into his space. He’s got his expression schooled perfectly into an intense but calm gaze, and Hongjoong finds himself pressed up against the wall of the studio. “How long have you been here?”

Getting his mouth to work properly is painfully difficult. “Only a few hours—”

“It’s late, Hongjoong,” Seonghwa murmurs, leaning into him further, until he’s got a hand curved at the base of Hongjoong’s neck. Heat flares from the contact and Hongjoong shivers violently, dazed as Seonghwa leans in to press his lips carefully to Hongjoong’s temple. “You seem lonely.”

Hongjoong feels like he’s been submerged underwater, and Seonghwa kisses him.

His lips are every bit as soft as Hongjoong’s imagined as they press against his own, explorative and simultaneously insistent. The hand at the base of Hongjoong’s neck works over the muscles there carefully, his other hand holding his waist like he’s something fragile, and Hongjoong’s mind goes blank as he melts into the older boy. Seonghwa works his mouth open, careful touches turning him into a puddle of _ want _ and _ need _ and—

Dimly, Hongjoong registers Seonghwa nudging his legs apart with his own, and then he slides his own in between so his thigh presses against his crotch.

Heat flares through him. It’s so _ hot_. The studio is tiny, keeping Hongjoong’s muffled noises contained as Seonghwa continues pulling him apart, and Hongjoong feels like he’s falling as Seonghwa plays him like a well-learned instrument, licking into his mouth and pulling Hongjoong’s head back with his fingers twisted into his hair. And Hongjoong wants Seonghwa to continue. He wants the older boy to tease him apart, water him down into something pliant. The flex of his fingers on his hip makes him go breathless over the thought of that _ inside _ him. In his mouth as he licks over his long, gorgeous fingers carefully. Seonghwa pushing Hongjoong onto his knees, smirking at him with no mercy. Seonghwa kissing him like his life depends on it. Seonghwa saying, _ aren’t you lovely? _ while he spreads his legs and—

“Hongjoong?”

He wakes with a start, sitting up and gasping for air. He’d easily have smacked his head into the bottom of Seonghwa’s bunk if said older boy didn’t press him down with a careful hand on his shoulder, shushing him and biting his lip worriedly as he leans over him. “Hongjoong? You okay?”

Hongjoong lies there, dazed for a few moments as he tries to catch his breath. When the memories of his dream hit him, he feels every part of him burn, and he resists the urge to slap Seonghwa’s hand away. The older boy must feel him stiffen up, however, because he takes his hand off his shoulder and instead brushes his own long hair away from his face. “I’m—I’m fine,” he breathes out after what feels like several hours of just laying there, trying to will away the twisted mix of shame and arousal and failing miserably. “Bad dream, is all.”

“You sure?” Seonghwa asks kindly, searching his face, and Hongjoong—

He hasn’t had a fucking sex dream in _ forever_. Whatever ones he _ does _ have tend to be vague and unfocused, typically not even featuring him, so whatever the hell _ that _ was—it’s new. And he doesn’t like the way his stomach swoops at the sound of Seonghwa’s voice and the way he’d dreamed it with perfect clarity only moments ago.

“I said I’m fine,” he says roughly, and Seonghwa raises an eyebrow before he shrugs and thankfully pulls away.

“Whatever you say,” Seonghwa says lightly. It’s still dark out, and Hongjoong climbs out of bed gingerly, praying to every deity in existence that Seonghwa can’t see his painfully obvious hard-on. Or if he _ does_—the thought is mortifying in and of itself—he’ll attribute it to morning wood, or something. _ Fuck_. Reality keeps hitting him in waves. There’s no way he just dreamed about Seonghwa in that way.

But he did, and Seonghwa’s got his back turned to Hongjoong, slipping out of his t-shirt. Hongjoong tries hard not to stare at the planes of his back and completely fails. By the time Seonghwa turns back around, Hongjoong’s still standing there, staring at him with wide eyes.

“Do you have a fever or something?” Seonghwa asks slowly after a moment, scrutinizing him carefully, and Hongjoong shakes his head quickly.

“I’m just—I’m gonna go take a shower,” he says, the words practically punched out of him as he runs to the bathroom as fast as he can, nearly slamming the door on Mingi’s face when he tries to step in first.

“You okay, hyung?” Mingi calls even though he’s clearly annoyed. “You look a bit crazed.”

“Shut up,” Hongjoong growls. He looks at himself through the mirror—eyes wild, cheeks red and hair a _ mess_, sweat practically dripping off his forehead, and groans. This might be the longest cold shower of his life.

It also might be one of the biggest problems he’s ever dealt with. Not just with Seonghwa, but with the rest of the group, too.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/magic__isiand) // [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/arieshwa)
> 
> both kudos and comments are forever appreciated. comments especially are so motivating, so please feel free to say some kind words and i will love you forever ;;


	2. mist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies for taking so long on this one... the coronavirus quite literally got me (i'm okay LMAO)
> 
> updates may be a little slow until chapters eventually get shorter! for now, enjoy another 15k :D

“Hyung, you look like a zombie,” Jongho says with far too much cheer for one in the morning, and Yeosang has to resist the urge to throw his phone in shock at the microwave as he flicks the light on. Jongho’s chilling out on one of the high stools situated at the counter with a glass of water in front of him and tired but friendly eyes. “Jeez. Try not to wake up the whole dorm, maybe?” He teases.

Yeosang wrinkles his nose. “Shut up,” he mutters. “The hell are you doing awake?”

“I could ask the same for you,” their maknae says conversationally.

Yeosang huffs and trudges over to the fridge, acutely aware of Jongho’s eyes trained on him as he grabs a carton of milk and shuts the door. He knows he probably looks ridiculous—hair mussed every which way, clad in nothing but boxers and one of Yunho’s soft black sweaters, bags under his eyes—but he can’t be fucked to care. His head is pounding and his stomach is embracing the idea of food as much as it’s rejecting it, so here he is.

When he grabs a bag of chips, Jongho sighs. “Hyung, you’ll be complaining about your face puffing up by morning if you eat that.”

“Don’t care,” Yeosang says flatly. “Want food.”

Jongho chuckles. “If you want food so bad, at least eat something healthy. Seonghwa hyung got fruit the other day.”

“Want _ chips_,” Yeosang corrects, and Jongho rolls his eyes as Yeosang sits down in the empty seat next to him. 

A wave of dull pain makes its way through him when he settles and he groans, shutting his eyes against the light and putting his head in his hands instinctively. He’s had his fair share of headaches, usually caused by the stress of idol life or plain dehydration after hours of practice with no water, but this one had bloomed out of nothing—he’d been resting and relaxing for the better part of the night. It’s settled behind one eye and turns into a sharp stabbing pain when he tries massaging his temples and he groans again. 

Jongho makes a worried noise and wraps an arm around Yeosang, asking, “Hyung, are you okay?”

“No,” Yeosang answers truthfully. “Head hurts.”

“Ouch,” Jongho says sympathetically, before Yeosang hears rustling movements and the distinct sound of feet hitting the floor, cabinets opening as Jongho mutters something indiscernible to himself. Within the next few moments he’s being gently pulled out of his chair as Jongho says, “Let’s get you into the couch, it’s too bright here.”

Yeosang has no complaints as Jongho practically manhandles him into the living room with no qualms for the way Yeosang adamantly keeps his eyes shut. He makes the older boy sit down slowly, turning on one of the back lamplights as he sets down a bottle of extra-strength painkillers and another glass of water, rolling his eyes when Yeosang huffs in annoyance. “Chips won’t help your headache, hyung.”

“But I’m _ hungry_,” he whines, aware of how idiotic he probably sounds as his voice nearly cracks, although he can’t be fucked to be embarrassed over it. Jongho’s seen him in much, much worse conditions, anyway.

The younger boy hums thoughtfully. “I can make you some soup if you’d like?”

Yeosang winces. “No, it’s too late,” he mutters.

“Too late for healthy soup, but not too late for sodium-filled midnight snacks?” Jongho points out with a snort.

Yeosang actually meant that he didn’t want to inconvenience Jongho this late, but he doesn’t verbalize it, instead saying, “Yeah, exactly.”

Jongho giggles, a pretty sound that doesn’t grate on Yeosang’s ears despite his headache. He mimes a grimace anyway, hiding a smile when Jongho bites his lip worriedly and makes him lie down. “Hyung, you’re such a dysfunctional adult.”

“Which is why I have you,” Yeosang murmurs, kicking his feet up into Jongho’s lap. The younger boy huffs but allows it anyway, adjusting so that his calves are resting atop his thighs. “You’re my functional adult role model.”

“I’m younger than you,” Jongho says dryly.

“Not the point.” Yeosang drapes an arm over his eyes, careful not to touch the parts of his head that hurt. “What are you doing awake, anyway?”

Jongho’s silent for a long moment. Long enough to make Yeosang open his eyes to look at the maknae, who has his eyes closed as he strokes a hand along one of Yeosang’s calves like his leg is a pet. It’s a soothing feeling, so he won’t reject it. “I couldn’t sleep,” he says after a moment.

“What, really?” Yeosang says sarcastically. “I never would’ve guessed.”

“Stop bullying me,” Jongho says with a pout too adorable for someone as generally scary-by-first-impression and muscular as he is. “You’re so mean.”

“That’s just how I show people I love them,” Yeosang says with a grin. 

He means it somewhat. It’s true—he’s always been naturally straightforward to the point of occasionally being rude, especially if it’s towards his three older members, but they never take fault in it. Jongho rolls his eyes. “I guess.”

And then he says, “I heard Hongjoong hyung and Seonghwa hyung talking the other night.”

Yeosang wrinkles his nose. “That’s why you can’t sleep? They talk all the time.”

“It was more so… the content of their conversation,” Jongho elaborates. 

Yeosang catches onto his tone, wary and careful. “Well, what were they talking about?”

Jongho pauses again, clearly searching for words as he pauses his ministrations. Yeosang stifles the initial spark of disappointment because Jongho’s hands had felt oddly _ really _ nice and shoves it away to sit up slowly as Jongho continues his silence, reaching out for the painkillers and the water the younger boy gave him and swallowing two pills down. “It was about…” he pauses again. “You know, that night.”

Yeosang can put two and two together. He’s talking about the night half of them came out, including Yeosang himself. “What’s so bad about them discussing it?” He points out, before inwardly cringing at how weirdly… defensive that sounded.

Jongho’s brows furrow. “Nothing, hyung, of course. It’s just that they were talking about how things have been a little weird since then, and…”

He trails off, and Yeosang purses his lips, ignoring the sudden pain in his head to say, “And what?”

“Don’t be like that,” Jongho protests, “I just don’t know how to word it! Hongjoong hyung came home from the studio at, like, 3am—”

“And _ why _ were you awake at 3am, might I ask?” Yeosang interrupts. “Is this a regular occurrence for you?”

Jongho sighs. “I wish it weren’t. But yeah, I couldn’t sleep that night either, and Hongjoong hyung went into his room and started talking to Seonghwa hyung about how things have been weird because we haven’t been, like, communicating with each other correctly for the past few weeks. I’m just thinking… that makes sense, you know?”

Yeosang… gets that. The first thing his mind goes to is the night he’d argued with Wooyoung in the practice room, of course, but he’s noticed other things too—like San’s skittish behavior around him recently. Every time he avoids Yeosang’s gaze he feels a prickle of hurt spark through him before it settles into something uncomfortable itching just underneath his skin. There’s also been Yunho’s sudden short temper, and the way Mingi and Seonghwa have both been even more reclusive than usual. Yeosang’s never really prided himself on being observant, so if he’s noticing it easily, there must be a problem.

But his mind snaps back to his earlier argument with Wooyoung. The guilt lodges itself into his throat immediately as it does whenever Yeosang thinks about Wooyoung in general these days, and he winces.

He _ still _ can’t believe he’d allowed himself to say any of that. He’s blunt, sure, but he knows when to keep his mouth shut and when to leave it open. He said things he’d planned on never saying and then promptly ate his own words when he caught that telling flash in Wooyoung’s eyes.

And of course, true to fashion, Yeosang can’t stop thinking about the weird aftermath either. The way Wooyoung wrapped his arms around Yeosang in a comforting hug. His breath against Yeosang’s neck, the sweat there drying and making him shiver.

Wooyoung’s lips against the corner of his mouth.

Okay, that most definitely takes the cake for Things That Make Kang Yeosang Toss and Turn at Night, finally beating out that one cat video Mingi had sent him months ago. Even though it’s been several days, he thinks he can still feel the burning imprint of Wooyoung’s lips. Which is pathetic, because Wooyoung has kissed him before.

Just… not like that.

“Hyung?” Jongho asks worriedly, effectively snatching him out of his thoughts. When Yeosang blinks back into focus, the younger boy’s rubbing a soothing circle into Yeosang’s ankle with his thumb, and he involuntarily shivers. “Is the headache getting worse? Maybe I shouldn’t have spoken.”

Yeosang shakes his head and immediately regrets it. “I’m fine,” he grits out when Jongho’s eyes somehow get even roudner. “Jongho, don’t worry about me. It’ll pass.”

Jongho pouts. “You should appreciate me more,” he mutters.

Yeosang absolutely does. “Jongho, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he deadpans instead, and Jongho smacks his leg with much more force than necessary. “Fuck, ow! I’m your hyung!”

“Oops,” Jongho says, voice laced with faux sweetness, and Yeosang barely saves himself from rolling his eyes and experiencing another wave of pain.

“Back to Hongjoong hyung and Seonghwa hyung,” he says after a moment. “Do you think this is something they’ll bring up?”

“I almost hope so, right now,” Jongho says honestly. “I know we all love each other, but sometimes it’s nice to clear things up, if that makes sense.”

Yeosang hums his agreement. “But it could make things worse, couldn’t it?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Jongho says, nodding hard enough for Yeosang to feel a few phantom pains. “I mean, it’d _ hopefully _ be something we can talk out, but… yeah.” He pauses. “But, hyung... how have things been between you and Wooyoung hyung?”

Ah, yes. The proverbial punch to the gut. They must be acting obvious if Jongho feels the need to ask out of nowhere. Yeosang stiffens and looks away from Jongho, who immediately asks, “Too much?”

“Too much,” Yeosang agrees. It’s bullshit that he’s even being weird about this—this isn’t his first fight with Wooyoung, after all—but as much as Yeosang wants to be transparent about this, he feels like he needs to… process this some more. Figure it out himself.

“Okay,” Jongho says quietly. And then—“You know you can trust me with anything, right hyung?”

Yeosang feels a rush of affection hit him and pouts. “You’re too cute, Jongho, you know that? Thank you.”

“I’m not cute,” Jongho mutters, wrinkling his nose, but as soon as Yeosang grins at him he’s smiling back. “We should get you back to bed, hyung. It’s too late.”

Yeosang yawns instinctively and Jongho rolls his eyes. “Alright. But you need to sleep well too, okay?” Yeosang says seriously as Jongho’s stands to help him up carefully.

“I will, eomma,” he says sarcastically and gets a punch to the arm in response.

Wooyoung’s snoring away when they step inside their room. Unsurprisingly enough, Jongho insists on helping him into bed, even tucking him in, which makes him snort. “Got any bedtime stories for me?” He teases quietly.

Jongho scoffs. “Absolutely not.”

Yeosang pouts up at him, even though Jongho likely can’t see him through the dark of their room. “Not even a goodnight kiss?”

He realizes his mistake when Jongho freezes above him, his hands hovering just above his shoulders. Yeosang gulps. “Fuck, sorry. Pretend I didn’t say that?”

It’s another awkward moment before Jongho unfreezes, leaning away and muttering, “Uh, yeah.” Then he straightens and makes his way out of the room. “Goodnight, hyung,” he whispers right before he steps out.

Yeosang winces and smacks his face in frustration. He regrets it wholeheartedly a moment later when the pain hits him _ again _ and he groans, curling into a fetal position and ripping off the blankets Jongho had meticulously covered him with. “You’re _ such an idiot,_” he hisses to himself, before promptly trying to erase every memory of even _ seeing _ Jongho within the past hour as he wills the pain away and tries his best to fall asleep. He finds himself lulled into it with a wish that he could simply crawl into Wooyoung’s bed and silently ask for cuddles, but something about that seems off now, and he finds himself aching quietly.

For Yeosang, this is how it starts:

He gets scouted off the streets when he’s barely fifteen years old. He’s handed a business card with contact information and the company name—Bighit Entertainment—

Which, back then, was a practically unheard of record label, so Yeosang had smiled politely at the man, careful to avoid his hopeful gaze as he pocketed the card and turned around, heading back to his friends.

He’d skateboarded home once the sky began turning into golds and pinks, a few new bruises on his hands and knees. He told his mother about being scouted and she pulled away from her fussing over him with a serious look in her eyes as she said, “Is this something you want?”

“I don’t know,” Yeosang said truthfully. Idol life had never really appealed to Yeosang, although he _ was _ always attracted to the dancers and their easy fluidity. But it seemed like a pipe dream to him. Unrealistic, at best.

He’d auditioned anyway. His parents were supportive of it, thankfully, and he’d gone with a hopeful friend, who, sadly, didn’t get in—but he did. He wasn’t sure why, really, what with his shaky vocals and tentative dance moves. His dad had told him it was his face, and when he got home after being cleared from auditions, he stared at himself in the mirror and frowned.

“Dude, you’re seriously pretty,” is what Yeonjun protests a few months later after practice as they stumble into their shared dorm room with two other boys. “I know it’s hard to see it when it’s yourself—insecurity or whatever, blah blah—”

“You were just complaining about your face during practice,” Yeosang points out flatly, glad the dark of the room can hide his involuntary blush. People call him pretty all the time and he still gets painfully embarrassed.

Yeonjun snorts. “Oh, but this isn’t about me,” he says. “We’re talking about how weirdly shy you are. I mean, every time you meet something new they have something good to say about your face. Don’t you get used to it after a while?”

Then he turns on the light and faces Yeosang fully, and Yeosang tries to turn away but it’s too late—“Are you _ blushing? _” Yeonjun asks, a grin forming on his face, and Yeosang buries his face in his hands.

“No,” he mutters.

“This is what I’m talking about,” Yeonjun says with a laugh. “You’re handsome and you can’t even see it.”

To no one’s surprise, he doesn’t make many close friends other than Yeonjun, who has a social energy level of thirty-five Kang Yeosangs stacked on top of each other and makes friends with everyone. He clings to Yeonjun more often than not and tries to ignore the stares of other trainees during and after vocal and dance lessons, when their strict dance teachers pick apart their every move and tend to focus on Yeosang, who improves in dancing but still struggles in keeping a steady voice.

Wooyoung joins the company over the summer Yeosang turns sixteen. When talk of a new trainee after a drought of trainees exiting the company and none entering for seemingly no reason at all starts coming in, Yeosang’s interest is piqued. He ends up being the one to drag Yeonjun out to the breakfast hall to meet him.

Wooyoung was small back then, smaller than he already is. Long, messy black hair framed his features, and his baby fat clung to his cheeks, making him look kind of adorable when he grinned at all of them and said, “I’m Jung Wooyoung! A 99-liner, and I’m a Sagittarius who loves to dance. Please accept me!”

_ Cute_, Yeosang thinks to himself, thoroughly mortified at the flip his heart does in his chest at the way Wooyoung giggles and turns to face him. And then Yeosang realizes he’s giggling because he _ said that out loud_, and his face burns. A couple of other trainees are snickering, Yeonjun including. Yeosang glares at them and turns away.

What he isn’t expecting is for Wooyoung to attach himself completely to Yeosang within the first couple of weeks. He asks Yeosang to go to the chicken shop by week three, and they wolf down fried chicken together. “You’ve found my weakness,” Yeosang says with a smile afterwards, and Wooyoung says, “_Nice_. I’ll keep this in mind.”

Yeonjun gets dragged along everywhere now (“I feel like a third wheel around you too, sheesh,” he mutters to Yeosang after the three of them sneak out of the dorms together, and Yeosang smacks his arm with much more force than necessary), and Wooyoung makes a friend from JYP—his name is Seo Changbin, and his intimidating, charismatic facade gives way to an easygoing nature that matches Wooyoung perfectly and makes Yeosang relax a little around him. Yeosang and Wooyoung become close, and Yeosang lets Wooyoung spam his messages with gifs and videos of BTS, taking him to the dance room and learning their choreographies together. 

He’s close to Wooyoung in a different way than with Yeonjun. He talks to Yeonjun about whatever dorm gossip is going around, but with Wooyoung he’s able to spill secrets he planned on never telling anyone. “My soulmate, that’s what you are,” Wooyoung says cutely to him one night, and something in his chest flutters. “I want us to succeed together and fail together, Yeosang, okay?”

“That’s so cheesy,” Yeosang grumbles. Wooyoung punches his shoulder and he yelps. “Okay, okay! Sorry, I didn’t mean it. That’s… sweet, Wooyoung.”

“Like me,” Wooyoung states matter-of-factly. Yeosang doesn’t have it in him to reply with some sarcastic comment as he stares at the way Wooyoung stares at himself in the mirror and pouts instinctively.

But it isn’t forever. The years Yeosang spends at Bighit are an equal mixture of hard work and too much fun late at night, but when he doesn’t make the lineup for the new boy group management plans on debuting, he leaves on impulse. His mom calls him and he finds himself tearing up over nothing, because he _ knew _ what he was in for. He goes back home and attends school with a half-hearted sort of spirit, closing himself off from his friends until he gets scouted again.

“You seem to have a knack for getting scouted by barely-known companies, huh?” His mom says teasingly when he shows her the KQ business card, and Yeosang pouts.

“_Eomma_,” he says petulantly, and she laughs at him. “Please. But I don’t think I should try.”

“Why?” She asks as she sets down a plate of tteokbokki down in front of him. “They’ve basically cleared you from auditions. I think they really like you, sweetheart, and look at you—handsome, kind, a nice voice _ and _ you can dance. Why don’t you give it a shot?”

It’s a repeat of a time years ago, heading into the building, but the atmosphere is strangely more hopeful. He goes alone this time, too, and one of the instructors looks at him with bright eyes as she says, “You have so much potential, Yeosang-ssi. We hope you’ll join us.”

There are only a few trainees there, meaning Yeosang has no way to avoid their shenanigans. Yunho’s the first to approach him, and Yeosang’s intimidated up until when the taller boy laughs and hugs Hongjoong when he cracks a joke. San’s got an intense, quiet energy, but he’s nice and practices dancing with Yeosang until the early hours of the morning when they have to get ready for school, and Jongho has a calm, reasonable mindset that Yeosang appreciates. Mingi’s an odd mixture of lazy and energetic and can’t seem to stop smiling, but he has a undercurrent of genius lyricism. Seonghwa joins after him, and he’s kind of bumbly and awkward but still insanely gorgeous. “It’s _ unfair_,” San groans to him two nights after Seonghwa comes in, and then pouts when Yeosang starts laughing so hard he can barely breathe. “Hey, fuck you!”

They’re like a little family, is what the small romanticist in Yeosang’s head likes to whisper to him after they’ve retired to their bedrooms. Yeosang often finds himself comparing this family to the small but tight-knit one back at Bighit—San and Yeonjun’s intimidating, competitive spirits, Mingi and Changbin’s easygoing, procrastinating natures—

And Wooyoung, who he misses dearly.

He came to terms with his crush an entire year earlier. They’d gotten the clear to go to Hongdae for a festival, and Wooyoung got a facepaint of a purple butterfly right under his left eye. The way he’d smiled at Yeosang then made Yeosang feel… oddly nostalgic, in the way of wondering why he couldn’t get to know this person earlier. He still tosses and turns over his old friend sometimes when he’s sure Mingi’s asleep in the bunk above him, but he tries to put it in the past.

So it’s a surprise when Wooyoung pokes his head into the KQ practice room a few months later, followed by Eden. Wooyoung bows as Eden says, “Everyone, this is Wooyoung-ssi. He just joined from Bighit Entertainment, so treat him well, okay?”

What isn’t surprising, however, is the way tears spring to Yeosang’s eyes instinctively when Wooyoung turns his gaze on him and then grins. His hair is a dirty blonde now, and when he opens his arms Yeosang runs into them without preamble. “You idiot,” Wooyoung murmurs fondly. “Did you think I’d break our promise?”

_ Right_. “Fuck off,” he mumbles back, and Wooyoung laughs.

“Do you guys know each other?” Hongjoong asks, smiling kindly at Wooyoung when he bows to him.

“Oh, wait,” San says, eyes widening. “This is _ the _ Wooyoung-ssi, right? The one you cried to me about once—”

“San, _ shut up_,” Yeosang hisses, except it’s too late, because the rest of them are already laughing.

“Missed me that much?” Wooyoung teases, ruffling Yeosang’s hair. His gaze is soft and sweet and far too fond, and Yeosang blushes.

“Yeah, actually,” Yeosang says seriously, before he huffs and slaps Wooyoung’s hand away. “Stop that. I’m older than you.”

“By six whole months, wow,” Wooyoung says mockingly, and then it’s like everything’s back to normal.

Wooyoung blends in far too easily, predictably enough. He makes good friends with San and Yunho and teases Mingi mercilessly about his shitty sleeping habits, learns how to cook properly with Seonghwa and stays up far too late talking to Yeosang about what’s been happening back at Bighit. By now, Changbin’s already set to debut in Stray Kids, and when he learns that Yeonjun’s made the lineup for Bighit’s new group, he can’t help but feel happy.

It’s way too hard to ignore the feelings bubbling up in his chest whenever Wooyoung gets too close (read: most of the time) and too comfortable (read: all the time). He tells himself to stop being so silly, but it’s hard to ignore feelings for your best friend when said best friend instigates physical contact all the time. But Yeosang represses it anyway, looking away when Wooyoung walks out of the stylist’s room with purple hair and cocky smirk aimed at San, who opens and closes his mouth like a pathetic-looking fish. These things come and pass, he tells himself.

_ What a joke_, he thinks now. Wooyoung’s too likable, and Yeosang, apparently, is too susceptible to people like him.

♡

Yunho doesn’t even bother looking up from his phone when Wooyoung collapses onto his side on the couch, slinging a leg over both of Yunho’s own and curling into him. The older boy pushes him away for a brief moment to release his arm from Wooyoung’s body weight and then he hums, dragging him back in and pressing his lips to Wooyoung’s forehead. The gesture makes warmth pool in his chest even with the proverbial dark cloud hanging over his head.

“You okay, baby?” Yunho murmurs into his hair.

Wooyoung shivers involuntarily, and Yunho snickers. Wooyoung pouts into the fabric of his worn sweater, cursing his constant state of being touch-starved, because Yunho’s touch sends tingles down his spine and he shifts closer. “Obviously not,” he mutters a beat too late. 

“Well, what’s wrong?” Yunho asks amusedly. “You’re so stiff. Relax.”

“Back hurts,” Wooyoung says quietly, and Yunho’s hand immediately slips from where it’s been rubbing soothing circles into his shoulder to smooth down his back, lightly pushing so that Wooyoung’s splayed out against Yunho’s chest. It’d be an awkward position to be in, if Wooyoung particularly cared about anything other then getting the comfort he’s been craving for the past few days. The heel of Yunho’s palm digs into the small of his back lightly and Wooyoung groans. “God, that’s good. Keep doing it.”

Yunho hums in acknowledgement, continuing his ministrations. It’s still light out, but Wooyoung shuts his eyes anyway, leaning into it and yawning after a minute or two of Yunho indulging him. “Thanks, by the way,” he says quietly. “I’ve been tired.”

“I can tell,” Yunho murmurs, his voice practically vibrating from somewhere deep inside Wooyoung’s chest. “You’ve been acting off for the past few days. What’s up?”

Wooyoung sighs. “You always know when something’s up.”

Yunho chuckles. “Maybe you’re just way too obvious. Always letting your feelings show on your face.”

Wooyoung huffs and smacks the older boy’s shoulder. “I already know! You don’t have to tell me.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Yunho says apologetically. “Interestingly enough, though, you don’t tend to actually talk about what you’re going through.” He pauses for a moment. “Willing to talk about it now?”

Wooyoung nuzzles into Yunho’s chest and says, “That seems awkward as shit.”

Yunho giggles. “Yeah, okay. We don’t have to.”

The thing is, Wooyoung _ actually _ wants to. It’s kind of frustrating that he’s so hesitant, but the topic in question—a certain dancer with unfairly nice legs, who, interestingly enough, has been avoiding him for the past few days—is probably somewhere in the dorm right now, and he doesn’t really want to bring him up lest said Topic in Question shows up at random mid-conversation. “How are you feeling?” He asks instead.

“Hm. Me?” Yunho asks after a moment, like he can’t believe Wooyoung asked.

He snorts. “Yes, you. What’s up with you these days? We don’t get to talk that much since you and Sannie share rooms and—”

“And I’m just kind enough to leave the room and leave you two be,” Yunho teases.

Wooyoung flushes red and just barely manages to sputter out, “Hey! I mean, thank you, but that’s not what I was talking about!”

Yunho laughs and drags him back into his lap when he fakes trying to go away, and Wooyoung feels kind of giddy in that lightheaded way that only comes when he gets _ this _ much physical touch reciprocated. “I’m joking, I promise! Anyway, I’m fine, thanks for asking. Kinda wanna go back to the practice room.”

Wooyoung pulls away slightly to meet Yunho’s eyes. “We can go together!”

Yunho scoffs and ruffles the younger boy’s hair almost patronizingly, to which Wooyoung swats his hand away and huffs. “You _ just _ said your back hurts, Wooyoungie.”

“Doesn’t hurt anymore now that I got your magic hands to massage me,” Wooyoung argues.

The older boy rolls his eyes. “Please, that wasn’t a massage at _ all_.”

“Right, right,” Wooyoung mutters petulantly. “How would _ you _ know, anyway? Are you suddenly a massage therapist?”

Yunho’s ears go red alarmingly quickly, and Wooyoung squints suspiciously at the older boy as he says, “Well… I’ve given Mingi a couple massages here and there.”

Wooyoung quirks an eyebrow. “Oh, really?”

Yunho isn’t meeting his gaze now, which Wooyoung thinks is probably Not Good. “Um, uh, yeah. Not recently, though.”

“Interesting,” Wooyoung hums. “Well, maybe you can give me massages more often, then. Not like my back problems are as bad as Mingi’s or anything, of course, but—”

Yunho seems to relax into the chair, whatever tension he’d been holding in his shoulders softening as he smiles at Wooyoung. “You can ask anytime,” he says sincerely, and Wooyoung finds himself grinning back without realizing. He probably looks like a sappy idiot in Yunho’s lap right now, he thinks to himself, but he doesn’t actually care.

“Ahem.”

Alright, he takes it back.

Yeosang’s voice is crackly from overuse after vocal lessons earlier that day, and Wooyoung can see the bags under his eyes even from where he’s standing fairly far away from them. Wooyoung pulls away from Yunho and slides off his lap smoothly, wincing when he feels how red his cheeks are. A rush of nervousness pulses through him at the indiscernible look in his friend’s eyes.

“Oh, hey, Yeosangie,” Yunho greets cheerfully. “You aren’t looking too good today.”

“Thanks,” Yeosang says dryly, rolling his eyes before his gaze settles on Wooyoung. It bores through him, almost, making him self-conscious for no reason at all. “Wooyoung.”

“Yes?” Wooyoung squeaks, internally wincing when his voice cracks.

“I need to talk to you,” Yeosang says simply, like they haven’t been avoiding each other for a while now, and Wooyoung squints.

“…Now?”

Yeosang purses his lips. “Yes. Unless you aren’t… available.”

He can feel Yunho’s eyes boring into his back. _ He’s probably confused_, he thinks to himself, and Wooyoung almost wants to be pissed that Yeosang’s backing him into a proverbial corner with his request. “I mean, sure,” he says slowly, standing up and brushing invisible lint off his shoulder, glancing at Yunho, who shrugs non committedly and waves Wooyoung off.

_ So much for being a friend_, he thinks spitefully. Then he walks around the couch and approaches Yeosang, who spares him a seemingly disinterested glance before he turns around and starts padding down the hallway to their room. Wooyoung’s pulse is racing oddly fast, and he pokes his head into their room, meeting eyes with Yeosang, who makes himself comfortable in a chair. Yeosang raises an eyebrow.

“Gonna come in?” He asks in that sarcastic tone of his, and Wooyoung scowls.

“Of course,” he mutters, stepping inside.

The atmosphere feels slightly stifling. Yeosang’s crossed his legs on the chair, and he’s wearing shorts that ride up on his thighs and a huge gray t-shirt—and a part of Wooyoung finds it endearing, but then he remembers he and Yeosang are in a Miscommunication Rut and he looks away when Yeosang squints. “You can sit down,” he says after a moment.

“I know,” Wooyoung says, irritated. “This is my room too.”

“Then sit down,” Yeosang says. His tone is still calm, his expression carefully put together into nonchalance, and Wooyoung immediately feels like a child, acting like this as he sits on the edge of Yeosang’s bed.

“What… did you want to talk about?” He asks after a moment of painful silence.

Yeosang doesn’t meet his eyes now. “I just think… some things need to be said,” he says quietly after a moment, sounding much shier than he did when he asked to speak to Wooyoung.

“I agree,” Wooyoung says slowly. “Um, first of all, what happened in the practice room, that was—”

“Totally my fault,” Yeosang cuts in before Wooyoung can finish. “Which I take responsibility for. I’m sorry for being weird about you having friends—that probably made me sound so possessive, which isn’t what I was trying to do at all.”

“Yeosang, it’s okay,” Wooyoung says sincerely, and Yeosang looks up at him with a scowl. “Look, I know you. You’ve never been possessive. You just like spending time with the people you’re close to, and I was _ definitely _ neglecting you there for a little bit—”

“I’m trying to apologize,” Yeosang protests. “_Wooyoung_, listen to me. We both messed up with communicating, okay? It’s fine. I’m just sorry I put all my anger on you.”

There’s a chasm of guilt in Wooyoung’s chest that keeps getting bigger, because in no way should Yeosang even be _ apologizing _ for just wanting more time with his best friend. But he also knows how stubborn the older boy is, and how hard it would be if he tried to continue arguing his point, so he sags into the mattress with defeat.

“You know I accept your apology,” he says. “Although you didn’t have to apologize in the first place—”

“Right,” Yeosang mutters, but he’s smiling. “And I know you’re sorry, so _ you _ don’t have to apologize. I think we’ve been friends for way too long for us to let something like this get in the way of things.”

_ Something like this_. When Wooyoung thinks about it, he goes into this constant back-and-forth between telling himself he’s overreacting because it was a moment of barely-there contact, before he falls into a state of anguish thinking about the way Yeosang reacted to it. It’s not a big deal. It really isn’t, and he and Yeosang are trying to brush it off as such, but it clearly isn’t working if the nerves underneath Wooyoung’s skin buzz a little louder when Yeosang looks him up and down.

“You didn’t think it was weird, did you?” Wooyoung asks, his mouth suddenly dry. “After we hugged?”

Yeosang bites his bottom lip, sharp canines digging into soft flesh, and Wooyoung has to tear his gaze away. “No, it was definitely kinda weird.”

Wooyoung can’t help it—he laughs incredulously, and Yeosang grins at him. “I’m sorry, then,” he says sincerely.

Yeosang rolls his eyes. “I _ just _ said we don’t have to apologize to each other. Either way, it was an accident, and you’re physically clingy enough for me to not be bothered by it.”

He doesn’t know why something about that reply makes him nervous. “Alright,” he whispers.

There’s another period of awkward, heavy silence, as if they’re avoiding a very obvious elephant in the room. Wooyoung scratches the back of his neck and stares down at the ground, and Yeosang yawns.

“I didn’t mind, you know,” Yeosang says matter-of-factly out of nowhere, and Wooyoung snaps his head up to look at him so fast it hurts his neck. The older boy looks thoughtful as he plays with the edge of his sleeves, and if it weren’t for the flush crawling up his neck Wooyoung could almost be fooled into thinking they were talking about literally anything else.

After a moment, Wooyoung says, “You didn’t mind…?”

Yeosang rolls his eyes, though he doesn’t seem annoyed. “That pseudo-kiss,” he explains, like it’s nothing. “I didn’t mind it.”

_ Fuck_. It hits Wooyoung, suddenly, that Yeosang looks undeniably appealing, and the way he’s talking—the way he looks at him with curiosity in his gaze when Wooyoung doesn’t answer immediately—it’s… off-putting. “Um, okay,” he says slowly.

Yeosang blinks at him owlishly before shaking his head. “You’re so dense,” he murmurs before standing up.

Wooyoung squawks. “Wait, hey! That’s rude!”

Yeosang smiles fondly at him as he continues approaching. His steps are lithe and quiet, not unlike a cat, and then he stands in front of Wooyoung and reaches out to cup his cheek. The feeling of Yeosang’s soft, warm palm on his face is what makes Wooyoung realize that whatever is happening _ is happening_, and Yeosang is looking down at him like he—

“Wooyoung,” Yeosang murmurs, voice a little shaky. “I wouldn’t mind if you did it again.”

Wooyoung’s mind promptly shuts down.

“You—” he splutters, gaping up at him. “You want to—?”

“To kiss you, maybe?” Yeosang fills in dryly. “Yes, you idiot. Isn’t it obvious?” But then his face falls into a frown that mars his pretty features, and Wooyoung has to encircle his wrist with his fingers to stop his hand from leaving his face. “Wooyoung, if you’re uncomfortable at all—”

“No!” He squeaks. Yeosang raises an eyebrow down at him, and Wooyoung rushes to get his next words out. “That’s not—I’m not uncomfortable with it, Yeosangie. I just, um… it’s a surprise.” He swallows. “You want me to kiss you for real this time.”

Yeosang searches his face intently for something Wooyoung can’t place enough to give him before he says, “Yes, if that’s okay.”

Even with nerves buzzing in his stomach, Wooyoung somehow still manages to feel a pang of fondness. They’re moving way too fast, probably, and Wooyoung feels disoriented like he’s just woken up from a dream, because—

Yeosang wants to kiss him. Wooyoung feels like he needs to take a moment and rationalize just _ why _ his best friend of six years wants to kiss him, whether it’s just to experiment or—and he almost doesn’t want to let himself contemplate this—if he actually likes Wooyoung, which he can’t be sure about, because Yeosang is equal parts open and closed book. His feelings don’t show on his face, but they show in his actions, and right now, Wooyoung can tell he wants this but nothing more.

“Maybe we should close the door,” Wooyoung murmurs, cursing the way his voice shakes.

“Or we could let the members decide if they’re voyeurs or not,” Yeosang jokes, and Wooyoung snorts on a laugh, making Yeosang giggle as he closes the door and locks it for good measure. A bit of the tension is gone but it comes back full force when Wooyoung stands to face Yeosang, who looks suddenly shy.

“Don’t take it so seriously,” Wooyoung says, trying to plant an easygoing smile on his face and predictably failing, if the way Yeosang rolls his eyes is any indication. “What, is this your first kiss?”

Yeosang immediately drops his gaze, and that’s answer enough. “Shut up,” he growls.

Wooyoung has to hold down a surprised laugh. “Oh my God, don’t worry about it. It’s totally fine, your secret is safe with me, blah blah,” he says brightly, and he takes Yeosang’s hands in his own when the older boy fidgets quietly. “Yeosangie, don’t worry. I can lead you through it!”

“I guess that means I can assume you’ve had your first kiss,” Yeosang says dryly, stepping closer to Wooyoung, and Wooyoung distractedly watches the way his eyelashes fan out against his cheek when he blinks.

“Yeah,” Wooyoung confirms, already feeling bashful for no reason at all. “It was such a long time ago, back in Bighit. I’m gonna be honest with you, I barely remember what he even looks like.”

“Please,” Yeosang laughs, and Wooyoung thinks he’s addicted to that sound. “Leave it up to you to pull something like that. I thought your first kiss was supposed to be with someone important?”

“You need to stop reading romance novels,” Wooyoung mutters, and Yeosang giggles. “That isn’t how it works a majority of the time. And anyway, I’m important to you, aren’t I? So this works out in your favor.”

Yeosang falls silent, and when Wooyoung looks at him, Yeosang’s biting his lip again. Although this time, Wooyoung thinks he has permission to look, and Yeosang fidgets. “Um, yeah,” he says after a moment. “Of course.”

“Cute,” Wooyoung murmurs.

Yeosang blushes. “Shut up and kiss me already.”

“So demanding, aren’t you?” Wooyoung jokes, and Yeosang—he _ shivers _ outright, and Wooyoung just can’t believe he’s about to kiss the best friend he’s had a crush on since they were trainees at a completely different company.

Somehow, it’s only then that he realizes he’s never really stopped crushing on him. The confusing rush of emotions overwhelms him and he almost steps back because he feel like he needs to be _ logical _ about all of this. But he can’t be logical with Yeosang staring at him with hooded eyes, hands tentatively coming up to smooth over his shoulders, because Wooyoung is already giving into him.

“Alright then,” he whispers as he settles a hand on Yeosang’s waist, trying not to hyperventilate over how close they are. He lifts his other hand and holds his chin, tipping it downwards as he pulls Yeosang a little closer, smiling at the hitch of breath that gets him. “You’re totally okay with this.”

“Fucking—_yes_, Wooyoung, I’m sure,” Yeosang hisses, shifting impatiently. “Why don’t you just shut up and—”

Wooyoung shuts him up instead, pressing their lips together lightly and letting his eyes flutter shut. He lets them stand there in silence for a moment, not wanting to overwhelm Yeosang, who promptly freezes and squeaks against his mouth. Which makes Wooyoung chuckle, which makes Yeosang huff in annoyance before he pulls Wooyoung closer to him by the shoulders and tilts his head.

Alright, maybe the romance novels taught Yeosang _ something_—or maybe he’s just well and thoroughly whipped, heart positively melting as he closes his mouth around Yeosang’s bottom lip and pulls lightly. That makes Yeosang whimper quietly into his mouth, his fingers clutching onto Wooyoung’s shirt like it’s a lifeline when Wooyoung tangles his fingers into the back of Yeosang’s head, pulling lightly just because he can. Yeosang is pliant and willing, clumsy in the most endearing way possible as he tries and mainly fails to mirror Wooyoung’s slow, sensual moments with his own seemingly desparate ones.

“You,” Wooyoung breathes when they pull away for a brief moment. “You’re so cute. Too cute. You’ll be the death of me, Yeosangie.”

Yeosang smiles, lips already spit-slick and eyes dark. “You think I’m cute?”

“Shut up,” Wooyoung groans, tangling both hands in Yeosang’s long hair and pulling him in for another kiss. This time it’s more heated, Wooyoung letting himself be more aggressive as he moves Yeosang’s hands to fall to his waist. The older boy’s fingers tighten and he makes a low noise, letting himself run his tongue along the seam of Yeosang’s lips, asking for silent permission. It’s equal parts hilarious and cute, how easily Yeosang opens his mouth, making a weak noise as Wooyoung licks into him, taking his time to explore Yeosang’s mouth, and—

It’s kind of sloppy. He cringes at the feeling of spit dripping down his chin even as he feels himself getting dangerously turned on from contact like this, from someone he cares about as deeply as he does, and something about the way Yeosang is putty underneath his hands makes him dizzy with want. If they continue, he thinks dimly as he pulls away, smirking at the way Yeosang chases him instinctively, he’ll go crazy.

He should stop, probably. Logically. The rational part of him is screaming at him to stop or slow down and _ think _ about what they’re doing, but then Yeosang’s pushing at him insistently to move back onto his bed and Wooyoung’s mind goes empty save for the want to keep doing this. 

They have to pull apart to get on the bed, a few seconds of stumbling and Yeosang whining impatiently as Wooyoung takes his time situating them so that Yeosang’s on his back and Wooyoung’s straddling him. “This okay?” Wooyoung asks quietly. He knows it probably is, but he just wants to make sure in case.

Yeosang casts him a look. “I would’ve pushed you away and ran if it weren’t okay, you idiot,” he says irritably. “_C’mon_, you move too slowly.”

“Shut up, you brat,” Wooyoung laughs, taking Yeosang’s hand and interlocking their fingers when Yeosang tries to grab him from the back of his head. “Sheesh, you’re so impatient. Just relax. I’ll take care of you, okay?”

He internally grimaces at how cheesy that was, but when Yeosang melts into the bed, looking up at him with soft eyes, he thinks it probably worked anyway.

Wooyoung takes his time licking into his mouth, tilting his head and pushing Yeosang down when he arches up against him. He holds their interlocked hand next to the older boy’s head, trailing the fingers of his other hand down his neck. He finds out what Yeosang likes when he’s getting kissed—takes note of the whimper he lets out when he sucks on his tongue and the whine he tries and fails to muffle when he sinks his teeth into Yeosang’s bottom lip. He finds that he quite enjoys the way Yeosang melts in his hands, free for Wooyoung to mold until they’re both too riled up and Yeosang finally starts trying to move again.

“Wooyoungie,” he murmurs breathily when Wooyoung pulls away to kiss up his jawline, groaning when Wooyoung nibbles at his ear. His voice sends sparks of want down Wooyoung’s spine and he shivers above him. “I—I want—”

“You want what?” Wooyoung asks, nipping at his pulse point. Yeosang tenses up against him and then whines. “What, too shy?” 

“Stop teasing,” Yeosang mutters, sounding thoroughly wrecked already.

Wooyoung laughs. “Sorry, sorry,” he apologizes, though he doesn’t really mean it.

He can tell Yeosang’s at least half-hard by the way he keeps subconsciously twitching his hips up into Wooyoung. The thought of Yeosang wanting more with him makes him equal parts nervous and beyond turned on, and he kisses down the column of Yeosang’s throat as he tries to work his way up to grinding his hips down.

When he does, it’s worth it. Yeosang groans, tangling his free hand in Wooyoung’s hair and pushing his hips back up, and Wooyoung feels the spark of arousal shoot its way down his spine to pool in his gut. “You really want this, huh,” he whispers against Yeosang’s neck, grinding his hips down again. “You haven’t done this before?”

“O-of course not,” Yeosang says before he drags Wooyoung into another kiss, rolling his hips up again and groaning when Wooyoung forces him back down. “Wouldn’t it be weird if I hadn’t gotten my first kiss but I _ have _ done this? I haven’t. You’re my first.”

He says it so simply and somehow it’s what makes Wooyoung’s face burn with embarrassment. “I feel so important,” he simpers and gets a smack to the back of his head in response. In retaliation, he sinks his teeth into Yeosang’s collarbone, gleefully taking in the strangled noise it gives him as a reward.

“You’re a bitch,” Yeosang complains.

“We’re one and the same in that sense, sweetheart,” Wooyoung points out as he grinds his hips down once more. Yeosang doesn’t reply, screwing his eyes shut. “Are you comfortable taking your shirt off? Or do you want to stay like this?”

“This is really happening, huh,” Yeosang murmurs, sounding dazed, and Wooyoung doesn’t even bother stifling his laugh. “_ Stop _ that. But, um, let’s stay like this for a bit.”

“Alright,” Wooyoung agrees, secretly relieved that they don’t have to go that far just yet. Which he knows is probably backwards logic, considering their current position, but something about taking their clothes off even though they’ve seen each other in various states of undress more times than either of them can count still makes him nervous.

And anyway, Yeosang looks devastatingly gorgeous as is. Enticing, in the way his blush disappears under the low neckline of his shirt, long hair fanning out against the pillow as he smiles lazily up at Wooyoung. “Seems like you wanted me to take my shirt off,” he says amusedly.

“Shut up,” Wooyoung mutters, feeling himself blush as he leans back down to press a kiss to his cheek. “Let me get you off.”

The moan Yeosang lets out when Wooyoung says that, combining it with a slow roll of his hips, makes Wooyoung feel dazed.

The room is silent, save for the occasional gasp or whimper from Wooyoung and Yeosang’s broken little whines that drive him absolutely crazy. He’s close already, Wooyoung can tell, because he’s fully pliant underneath him, rolling his head back and trembling quietly. Wooyoung’s almost worried he’s overwhelmed his friend again until Yeosang moans and says, “Please k-kiss me?”

His words—and the way Yeosang says them so headily, like he’s given up on their banter—it simultaneously makes Wooyoung melt just as it stokes the fire in his gut higher. He whimpers and obliges, leaning down to mouth up the line of his throat before he presses their lips together, licking into his mouth while Yeosang lies there obediently. “Close, baby?” He asks.

“Yeah,” Yeosang whispers. Honestly, Wooyoung’s surprised they’ve both even lasted this long, but the pleasure’s starting to overwhelm him as he grinds down harder and faster, the friction from his cock against his sweatpants only sending sparks up and down his spine because he’s that far gone. “You too?”

“Mhm, you’re just so hot,” Wooyoung murmurs, grinning when Yeosang groans and rolls his hips up. 

“Stop, it’s embarrassing,” he mutters. His fingers twist into the sheets as he arches his back, and—

Wooyoung can’t get enough of it, feeling dizzy with want. He takes one of Yeosang’s hand in his own, pressing a light kiss to his knuckles as he says, “Come on, Yeosangie, you can let go.”

Yeosang’s incoherent when he cums, whining loud enough for Wooyoung to worry about the noise as he quickly leans down once more to muffle the sounds with a kiss, rolling his hips and feeling himself tip over the edge as Yeosang arches his back and holds his hips tightly in his hands.

“Fuck,” Yeosang mutters as they both calm down, chests heaving against each other. And then—”Get the fuck off me, you’re so heavy.”

Wooyoung realizes he’s dropped his full body weight on Yeosang and snickers, rolling off him and wincing as he feels that telltale stickiness cooling against him. “This was fun,” he says.

“Mm,” Yeosang hums. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Wooyoung says, smiling. He stares at Yeosang’s side profile and finds that he can’t look away when his best friend turns to look right back at him. They hold gazes for a few moments, but it’s comfortable.

“That was my first time doing literally any of that,” Yeosang muses after a moment. “But… it was with you, so I’m… um, glad.”

Wooyoung’s heart feels like it’s going to explode within the confines of his ribcage. “You’re so, so cute.”

Yeosang goes bright red, and Wooyoung leans into him with a laugh. “Stop being sappy.”

“Whatever,” Wooyoung murmurs. He wants to address the elephant in the room slowly taking shape again but in a different form. He wants to talk about their feelings, but maybe that’s moving too fast. “We should change,” he says instead, and resolves to talk about it later when he and Yeosang are less jacked up on hormones. Yeosang smiles at him again, and Wooyoung thinks, _ shit_, he might be ruined.

♡

“I’ve decided it’s time for the talk,” Hongjoong says, thoroughly exasperated as Seonghwa closes the fridge door and raises an eyebrow at him.

“What, the birds and the bees?” Seonghwa asks teasingly, immediately schooling his features into a professional-looking frown when Hongjoong glares at him. “Ahem. I mean… yeah. Yes. The talk. It’s time.”

“Please,” Hongjoong rolls his eyes. “Do you even remember what I’m talking about?”

“Of course I do,” Seonghwa protests. “We need to talk to them about being open and communicative and less sexually charged with each other!”

“Shut _ up_,” Hongjoong hisses, side-eyeing Mingi from the couch, who has his headphones in and clearly isn’t even paying attention. “Or yell it out a little louder, will you?”

“Hey.” Seonghwa smiles and reaches out to flick Hongjoong’s forehead lightly, completely ignoring his indignant huff. “I’m still older than you, remember? Don’t be so rude.”

Hongjoong pouts up at him. “Not my fault you’re an idiot.”

Seonghwa laughs incredulously. “You’re too much, I can’t believe you.”

They’re standing pretty close. Hongjoong would be lying if he said he wouldn’t have taken notice of this before That Night (read: his painfully realistic sex dream about his best friend, which he _ still _ can’t fucking believe he had), because Hongjoong is consistently aware of human contact in general, but ever since his mind had a fuck-up and chose to torture him in the worst way possible he’s been more hyperaware of it than usual. 

It isn’t just Seonghwa—even the more physically affectionate members like Wooyoung and Mingi putting their arms around him makes him feel put off. But he won’t deny that with Seonghwa, it’s a million times more intense than it should be.

“Well?” Seonghwa prompts after a moment of silence between them, and Hongjoong steps back, clearing his throat and looking away. “Are you gonna…?”

“Yeah. I mean, right now sounds just fine,” he says with a shrug. “Except I think Yeosang and Jongho are taking naps, so I’ll go wake them up. Wanna just… tell Mingi what’s up?”

“Sure,” Seonghwa agrees, casting a mournful look at the cup of milk sitting on the countertop before he leaves. Hongjoong stifles a chuckle and turns on his heel to pad down the hallway.

He stops at San and Yunho’s room to see them talking to each other hushedly. When he clears his throat, they both look up immediately.

“Hey, hyung,” San greets with a smile. “You look… harried. What’s up?”

“We’re having a family meeting in the living room,” Hongjoong says simply, “so get your asses out there.”

San and Yunho side-eye each other before Yunho says, “Is there a problem?”

“Hongjoong raises an eyebrow. “Well, why else would I call a meeting?”

“You know what? Good point,” Yunho says, and Hongjoong rolls his eyes as San snickers. “Okay, we’ll be out in a second.”

“Good,” Hongjoong says, stepping back out of their room.

He tells Jongho to do the same from inside the room he shares with Mingi, where their youngest has been taking their free time and using it to nap. He wakes up groggily when Hongjoong shakes him persistently and pouts when Hongjoong tells him to get up, and he almost feels bad because he looks so exhausted.

And then it’s just Wooyoung and Yeosang left. Their door is closed, which isn’t all too surprising, but when he tries to open it he finds that it’s locked.

Right, maybe they’re both resting and wanted to be left alone. He knocks, stepping back from the door. Except he hears immediate rustling, the creak of a bed and muffled, rushed whispers, and some part of Hongjoong thinks, _ definitely suspicious_.

Then he hears a sigh that sounds distinctly like Yeosang’s, and the door opens.

Hongjoong immediately squints, staring them both down. Yeosang’s hair is mussed and his stance is lazy and relaxed as he leans against the door, shoving his hands in his pockets and smiling at Hongjoong beatifically, although his eyes are way too alert for him to have just woken up. And Wooyoung—he’s on Yeosang’s bed, his phone in hand as he grins and says, “Need anything, hyung?”

Hongjoong frowns and steps inside. It’s… significantly hotter in here than in the rest of the dorms. When Hongjoong points this out, Yeosang snorts and says, “Because we had the door closed, maybe?”

“But why?” Hongjoong asks curiously. “And why was it even locked, for that matter? I thought we all agreed to not lock the door after Yunho accidentally locked himself in that one time.”

Wooyoung stifles a laugh. Yeosang meets eyes with Wooyoung over Hongjoong’s shoulder, and Hongjoong scowls. “We were just discussing things, hyung,” Yeosang says easily.

“Right,” Hongjoong mutters, running a hand through his hair and shaking his head. “Well, whatever. Be as secretive as you want, I guess. There’s a family meeting about to happen, though, so get out and go to the living room.”

Wooyoung makes a noise of surprise. “Family meeting?”

When Hongjoong looks back at Yeosang, the younger boy has a troubled look on his face. “We’ll be out there, hyung,” he says quietly.

“Wait, what’s the meeting about?” Wooyoung inquires.

“You’ll see,” Hongjoong says simply, feeling a bit peeved that Wooyoung and Yeosang seem to be adamant about hiding whatever they’re hiding. He makes to step out of the room, ignoring Wooyoung’s whine of protest.

He’s about to leave when he sees it—Yeosang shifts off the door to give the leader room, and the light of the hallway spills out across his collarbone from where his oversized shirt slips off his shoulder, revealing a dark mark blemishing his skin.

Hongjoong narrows his eyes and then looks up at Yeosang, who looks like a deer caught in headlights, frozen as he stands there. _ Caught indeed_, he thinks to himself.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he says, raising an eyebrow. “Either of you mind telling me what the fuck a hickey is doing on Yeosang’s _ collarbone?_”

The response is instantaneous. “It’s not a hickey,” Yeosang protests, right as Wooyoung sputters out, “That’s not—we didn’t—”

“Shut up, both of you,” Hongjoong snaps, feeling a sudden pang of sadness in his chest. “Is this really how little you guys trust me? You’re both really going to lie about something that obviously happened?”

Both boys curl in on themselves, looking guilty. “No, it’s not that, it’s just…” Yeosang trails off.

Wooyoung sits up, casting Yeosang a worried glance. “How would we tell you, anyway, hyung?” He challenges. “I mean, you ask us why the door was locked, and we’re just supposed to say—” he breaks off, going red. “Um, you know.”

Hongjoong rolls his eyes. “Do you two realize how serious this is?” He points out. “You’re two idols in _ South Korea _ who came out to us and you’re already all over each other.”

Wooyoung’s eyes flash. “Excuse me?”

“Hyung, that’s unfair,” Yeosang says quietly. “We told you because we trusted you—”

“Also, we’re hormonal young adults,” Wooyoung says irritably, standing up fully and crossing his arms. “So sorry if you think it’s _ weird _ that I’m totally sick of jerking off by myself and you’re all hotter than most of the people I know. “_Yes_,” he says before Hongjoong can open his mouth, “including you, hyung.”

“That wasn’t what I was going to say,” he hisses, feeling his face heat up, and Wooyoung snickers. “You guys know what I mean. I just—this is why I wanted to hold a meeting. I…” he pauses. “You’re being safe, right?”

Yeosang buries his face in his hands and Wooyoung snorts. “Hyung, we didn’t go _ that _ far,” he says easily, and Hongjoong opens and closes his mouth like a fish.

“Just checking in on you guys,” he says weakly after a moment. “Also, I’m your leader. I want you guys to _ trust _ me, meaning—just be truthful when I ask you things, please?”

Wooyoung looks guilty as he stares down at the ground. “Sorry,” he says quietly. “This is still so new.”

“I agree,” Hongjoong says, “which is exactly why communication is key.”

“Good point,” Yeosang mutters.

“I’m always right,” Hongjoong says breezily as he steps out of the room. “Come out in five or I’ll make you take turns washing the dishes for three weeks.”

Stepping back out into the cool hallway gives him a sense of clarity as he realizes what just happened. Wooyoung and Yeosang—they did_ something _ with each other that Hongjoong isn’t sure about and doesn’t think he wants to know the details to. His own bandmates. The people he lives with.

_ Fuck_.

He hurries back out into the living room feeling embarrassed and confused. When Yunho sees him, he squints. “Why are your ears so red?” He asks.

“Like recognizes like,” he mutters, and Yunho’s hands immediately come up to his own ears with a wince. Hongjoong makes a point to look at San, who has his head in Yunho’s lap, before he looks back up at him with a deadpan expression, and Yunho only blushes further.

“Where’s Wooyoung and Yeosang, hyung?” San asks curiously. 

“They’re coming,” Hongjoong says shortly, pushing at Seonghwa’s shoulder. “Shove over and give me room.”

Seonghwa pouts up at him. “Or you could just sit in my lap,” he offers sweetly.

Hongjoong feels his face flame up and glares at the older boy. “I am _ not _ sitting in your lap right before a group meeting,” he hisses. “ _ Move_.”

“Maybe next time,” Seonghwa muses as he scoots over and pats the space next to him, slinging an arm around Hongjoong casually when he sits down. Hongjoong is suddenly hyper aware of every place they touch and stares hard at the coffee table in an attempt to clear his head.

It doesn’t actually work, of course.

When Wooyoung and Yeosang come in, San’s eyes brighten and he sits up, dragging Wooyoung down to sit next to him. Hongjooong keeps his eyes on Yeosang as Mingi and Jongho chatter—Yeosang watches San for a few moments, and when it becomes clear that San isn’t going to look at him, he sits down next to Jongho and quietly rests his head on the younger boy’s shoulder.

“Did you see that?” Hongjoong whispers to Seonghwa.

“Yes,” Seonghwa confirms. Hongjoong casts him a quick side glance. The older boy frowns as he looks at Yeosang, although he looks away when Yeosang’s gaze flicks up to him.

Hongjoong can’t believe this. The last time they’d held a serious group meeting was before Answer promotions even began, and now they’re here because none of them can apparently handle weird feelings and sexual tension post-half-the-group-coming-out. Objectively, he can’t even be exasperated with all of them either, because…

He groans internally when Seonghwa shifts closer, patiently waiting for him to speak. _ Yeah_. The officially impossible-to-repress memory of Seonghwa pressed up hot and wanting against him—except it wasn’t even a memory because he somehow dreamt it up completely unprompted.

He supposes it wasn’t exactly _ unprompted_, though, because the feeling of Seonghwa’s lips against his forehead is still firmly ingrained in his mind’s eye.

“Hyung?” Jongho asks, peering at him.

Hongjoong realizes the entire group’s watching him expectantly and shakes himself out of it as best he can. “Right, sorry.” He breathes in. “First of all, is there anyone who already knows what this… group huddle is going to be about?”

Yeosang and Jongho both raise their hands slowly, looking embarrassed as San squints at them and asks, “Wait, how do you guys already know?”

Yeosang doesn’t answer, looking away, and Jongho says the most intellible thing his sleep-addled brain can apparently come up with: “Um…?”

“That isn’t the point,” Hongjoong interjects tiredly before San’s eyes can narrow any further, though he’s curious to find out how they know as well. “The point is that you’re all a bunch of embarrassingly oblivious fools for not realizing the problem here—or you’re just avoiding the question altogether.”

Seonghwa stifles a chuckle as Wooyoung and Mingi squawk indignantly. Yunho pouts at him. “Well, maybe if you told us straight up?”

Hongjoong purses his lips. He finds that it’s hard to meet their eeys when he says, “I don’t think… we’ve been taking anything well after some of our members came out a few weeks ago.”

He can sense Wooyoung lock up form here, gaze already downcast. The rest of the group, save for Jongho, Yeosang and Seonghwa, looks shocked beyond belief. “What—?” San starts, sounding completely lost.

Hongjoong sighs. “We had several members come out to us, yes?” He asks, and San nods. “Well, there’s been a lot of weird tension since. It’s gotten in the way of everything because apparently we can’t handle the thought of our friends potentially liking guys despite us being… well, super open-minded. And also clingy. I mean, do you guys _ see _ what our fans say about us?”

Mingi snorts, hiding a smile. “We’re a bit obvious?”

“And much more,” Hongjoong says tiredly. “But within the group, there are… certain dynamics that have been essentially thrown overboard because of this.”

They all look guilty. Seonghwa says, “We’re not here to put you guys down about it.”

“Right,” Hongjoong agrees, because that would be completely hypocritical on his part anyway, and he’s kind of hoping that whatever comes out of this meeting could potentially help his current problem. “I’m just trying to identify what’s wrong here so we can fix it. Anyone want to give their thoughts?”

It’s dead silent for a moment. Everyone avoids each other’s gazes, and Hongjoong’s about to just call someone out when Jongho tentatively says, “I think we can all agree that none of this is born out of any ill intent?”

Both Yunho and San nod with vigor. “Absolutely not,” Yunho says emphatically, and Hongjoong catches the way Mingi stares hard at him before glancing away. He hasn't been able to find out what’s going on between the two and it stirs up worry in his chest.

“Then what’s the problem?” Hongjoong asks.

Jongho looks at San and Yunho helplessly. San opens and closes his mouth, but they’re saved by Yeosang, who says, “You guys see it as an opportunity but you haven’t come to terms with yourselves yet in the way we have. So it turns into weird sexual tension because you’ve realized that you’re perfectly allowed to have these feelings, but you’re still denying it.”

Everyone’s mouths drop open, including Hongjoong’s. Yeosang is way too fucking blunt sometimes, because it makes everything feel like he’s just dumped a bunch of ice-cold water on all of them. The younger boy looks shy now as he says, “Was that too much?”

“Hell no it wasn’t,” Wooyoung says from San’s side, the beginnings of a grin forming on his face. “He’s absolutely right, you guys.”

“Felt that deep in my chest,” Mingi says a matter-of-factly, and Wooyoung laughs.

And when Hongjoong turns to look at Seonghwa, he’s smiling.

“Alright, so…” he trails off, trying to find his voice again. “Can we all agree with this?”

Jongho and San nod slowly, and Yunho murmurs, “Uh, yeah.”

Hongjoong runs a hand through his hair. “Okay. Obviously none of us are or should be expecting all of us to come out if they aren’t comfortable. But I’ll say it now—I realized I was bisexual years ago.”

“Hyung,” Wooyoung gasps, eyes wide. “You—?”

“_Nope_,” Hongjoong interjects, feeling his face heat. He doesn’t want a repeat of when four of them had come out at once but have all the tears directed at him this time. “None of that, please. It’s just something I thought you all should know. But I’m trying to make a point with this—you guys should be comfortable with each other, and you all should be comfortable with me.” It takes all of his strength to hold himself back from side-eyeing Wooyoung and Yeosang as he says this. “If a member comes out, they’re still the same person they were before they did so. And if a member wants to come out, they should feel comfortable. That being said, getting used to things is hard, and the past few weeks have been an absolute whirlwind, yes?”

There’s a chorus of agreements, and Hongjoong smiles.

“Right. So I don’t blame any of us for acting off. But I also need to establish just how important it us to be communicative and open with each other. Anytime you have a problem—and I mean _ anytime_, feel free to come talk to any of us. But try to at least communicate with the person you have a problem with beforehand, okay?”

“Hongjoongie and I can be your emotional support therapists if you really need it, too,” Seonghwa says cheekily. Hongjoong rolls his eyes.

“Right, that too. Whatever. Do you guys understand me?”

They all nod with various degrees of enthusiasm. Yeosang stares straight at San, and Mingi stares right at Yunho, but neither of them seem to notice.

Hongjoong sighs. It’s probably going to take more than just tentative pushing at them to speak up more. He almost wants to call it out but holds himself back when he realizes he has one more thing to add.

“Oh, and also?” He clears his throat, giving Wooyoung and Yeosang a glance quick enough to hopefully not be noticed by the rest of the group. “One more thing. You guys are allowed to experiment, but stay safe.”

_ This _ is what gets them all flustered, and Hongjoong has to try so hard not to just burst out laughing at the way all of them collectively splutter. Even Seonghwa seems extra nervous next to him, fidgeting as he murmurs, “Um, why’d you feel the need to say that?”

“I’ll tell you later,” he promises under his breath. Then he claps his hands together, gathering the rest of their attention as best as he can. “Don’t bother being embarrassed, guys. I’m pretty sure we’ve all walked in on each other’s… _ individual activities_. But do you understand me?”

Wooyoung and Yeosang nod, sharing a quick look that apparently doesn’t go unnoticed by Jongho or San, because they both instantly frown. Hongjoong is so, so tired. This will take a lot more work than he realized originally, and the thought makes him want to curl into Seonghwa’s lap and take a power nap until he’s fully recharged again. And then he finds himself flustered at the idea of sitting in Seonghwa’s lap and thinks, _ fucking hell_.

The meeting adjourns itself, because Yunho inhales his water down the wrong pipe when Mingi asks, “Wait, hyung, are you talking about _ sex? _” and suddenly everyone’s dissolving into giggles and blushes as though they aren’t all adults. Hongjoong finds that he wouldn’t mind working through this problem simply because he’s working through it with them, and smiles when Seonghwa grins at him.

♡

San eyes the closed door to Wooyoung and Yeosang’s room mournfully from the couch, boring a hole into it like the door could magically open and allow him inside if he tried hard enough.

It’s still daytime, so he doesn't know why the door is closed now, with both Yeosang and Wooyoung inside. He also doesn’t really know why it’s bothering him as much as it is, save for how Wooyoung had completely ignored him when Hongjoong held The Family Meeting earlier, instead cuddling up with Yeosang (which, really, he did often no matter what). Except the secret look they’d shared after Hongjoong started talking about experimentation is still vividly imprinted in his brain.

Damn, maybe he’s being too observant.

He was probably reading way too much into this, anyway. Wooyoung and Yeosang had been friends far longer than the rest of them, and they’re consistently close, although for the past few days San definitely hasn’t been imagining the weird tension between them. But even after all that, San _ still _ feels the slightest bit uneasy.

“Try not to look so obvious, Sannie,” Mingi teases from the kitchen, and San drops his gaze, suddenly feeling ashamed.

“Shut up,” he mutters half-heartedly as he stands and heads to his room, ears instinctively straining as he walks past Wooyoung and Yeosang’s room. Yunho’s nowhere to be found, but that’s the least of his worries, he thinks sullenly as he climbs up to the top bunk and buries his face in his pillows.

A wave of exhaustion hits him and he gorans. Why he’s antagonizing over this as much as he is, he doesn’t know. He gets under the covers and stares off into space for a while, vision softening at the edges as his brain starts to turn off. 

But then his door opens with a slow, prolonged creak. San huffs irritably as he jerks back awake against his will. “Yunho, you asshole,” he hisses before turning over.

Yunho stifles a giggle that sounds nothing like him, and San freezes when Wooyoung says, “I didn’t know Yunho and I resembled each other enough for you to start mixing us up, Sannie.”

“Sorry,” he says immediately as he sits up, peering down at his friend. “What are you doing here?”

“Just wanted to see you,” he says playfully as he strides in and makes himself at home in Yunho’s bed. He leaves the light off and the door open, and San sighs, mourning the loss of his bed’s warmth as he climbs back down the ladder to push the door mostly closed and turn the lamp on. When he turns around, he watches Wooyoung watching him carefully. His hair is mussed and he looks adorably sleepy.

“You think Yunho’ll kill me for sleeping in his bed again?” Wooyoung asks with a smirk.

“Nah, Mingi’s in his bed more often than not, anyway,” San says, grinning when Wooyoung gasps.

“Oh, _ very _ interesting,” he says, making grabby hands at San, and San rolls his eyes fondly, motioning at him to get up.

“I’m not cuddling with you on Yuho’s bed,” he says when Wooyoung pouts at him.

“But _ why_,” Wooyoung whines. “We’ve done much worse! That shouldn’t matter.”

Okay, those implications are… off-putting. He tries not to let it show on his face as he leans up against the wall. “Still.”

“Alright, whatever,” Wooyoung mutters under his breath. “Anyway, what’s up with Yunho and Mingi?”

San side-eyes him. “You won’t spread it throughout the whole dorm?”

Wooyoung laughs incredulously. “Hey! Do you not trust me? Of course I won’t, I’m just curious. C’mon, spill.”

San rolls his eyes and says, “They’ve just been… very weird with each other ever since Mingi said—something to him, although Yunho refuses to tell me what it was.”

“Could’ve figured this out on my own,” Wooyoung mutters jokingly, and San laughs, walking over to where he sits up on the bed just to poke at Wooyoung’s cheek. Wooyoung turns his face to him and opens his mouth wide as if to bite his finger. San laughs even though he was kind of expecting it. “Hey, Sannie.”

“Hm?” San asks, trying not to stare at the way Wooyoung looks ridiculously cute like this, grinning at San with his cheeks puffed up.

His heart keeps doing flips in his chest whenever he sees Wooyoung these days, and it confuses him. He knows it’s led to him being even clingier than he normally already is because even Jongho seems to be commenting on it in the dorms, and it’s made him slightly self-conscious because he doesn’t exactly know where it’s coming from.

“Do you think Yunho and Mingi could potentially… like each other as just a _ little _ more than friends?”

This makes San freeze. He searches Wooyoung’s face intently—probably with too much vigor, because Wooyoung does that thing where he blushes and looks away whenever San looks at him like this—and he frowns. “Why would you think that?”

“I mean,” Wooyoung starts. He’s floundering a little bit, and for the life of him, San can’t figure out why. “They’ve known each other for so long, haven’t they? It’s kind of weird that they only started acting off around each other recently.”

“Well, they’ve been in arguments before and acted like this,” San argues.

Wooyoung peers at him. “Do you really think they’re just fighting?”

Now it’s San’s turn to look away awkwardly. “I mean, maybe,” he mutters. “But, anyway, Yunho—he’s straight, isn’t he?”

This is the first time he’s really bringing it up since he asked Wooyoung about being bisexual. For some reason, that feels as though it occurred years ago.

Wooyoung snorts. “Yeah, sure. The guy acts like he doesn’t actually care about who he’s attracted to, though. He just has the… energy.”

San frowns. “What does that mean?”

Wooyoung rolls his eyes and stands to turn the lamp’s mood lighting up a little higher. “You know, Jongho keeps bringing it up! A gaydar. Yunho sets mine off completely.”

San is so, so confused. “You’re saying… that you can just tell when someone’s not straight?”

“Of course not,” Wooyoung laughs. “You can’t _ just tell _ for everyone. But sometimes it’s a little easier for some people because they make it obvious. Like, I would be truly shocked if Hongjoong hyung were fully, one hundred percent straight, you know?”

This makes him laugh. He can see that. “Alright, alright,” he concedes, “I guess you’re making at least a little sense. And Yunho…?”

“Well, he’s got _ something _ in him and I’m determined to find out what it is,” Wooyoung says with a grin, eyes shaping into crescents when San laughs again. 

“Well…” San ventures after a moment. “What about me?”

Alright, so maybe he’s curious to know whether or not Wooyoung sees anything in him. A part of him wants to hear something other than _ one hundred percent straight_, but he’s surprised by just how intrigued he is to hear Wooyoung’s opinion.

“San,” his best friend says almost condescendingly. He shakes his head and smiles. “You’re, like, the straightest person I know.”

The entire cheerful mood of the room shatters instantly, although Wooyoung doesn’t seem to even realize it. Something curls in San’s gut at the words. “And how would you know, exactly?”

His voice comes out much colder than intended. It makes Wooyoung squint at him, scrutinizing for a moment. “I mean, the way you act,” he explains. “You’re just super friendly, you know? You care a lot about us but you’ve never shown any _ interest _ in us—not like that, at least.” He frowns. “You’re not interested in any of us, are you?”

Oh, how badly San wants to throttle his best friend right now. How _ badly _ he wants to yell at Wooyoung, tell him he’s maybe-sort-of interested in _ him_—push him up against the wall, perhaps, and show him just how wrong he is. But all he feels is an irritating sort of sizzling energy boiling right underneath his skin as he sits there, frozen, blinking at Wooyoung, who leans back on his arms like assuming a friend’s sexuality out loud is no big deal. It makes him want to scream.

“No,” San says instead, shrugging instinctively. “I guess not.”

Wooyoung rolls his eyes. “Then don’t make me think otherwise! Damn, you’re hard to read sometimes.”

He can’t tell if he’s mad or anxious. Suddenly their room feels far too small, and he wants to get out. “Sorry,” he says hollowly, and Wooyoung gives him a careful look before he stands and sits down next to him, lifting his hand and pressing his lips to his knuckles like it’s—like it’s nothing. _ Fuck_. He prays that the dim lamplight obscures his blush. “I need to stop bringing this up.”

“Talking about sexuality is fine,” Wooyoung says softly. “Talking about feelings is fine. It means you trust me.”

_ Trust_, a worried voice in his head whispers. _ Right. Important. _ And yet he can’t seem to trust Wooyoung enough to tell him how wrong he is. The thought eats at him, and Wooyoung must realize something’s wrong, because he leans back and holds his chin, tilting his face towards him and forcing San to meet his eyes.

“Are you okay?” He asks softly.

He shivers at the bare minimum contact. And instead of telling Wooyoung the truth, San says, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

When Wooyoung leaves the room, he does so cautiously, almost like there’s crushed glass strewn across the ground and he needs to be careful. He says _ I love you, Sannie, _ as he leaves, and San crawls back into his bed, this time letting himself lull off into sleep fully.

♡

It’s four in the morning when San asks, “Hyung, do I seem… straight?”

Seonghwa is only awake for two reasons—one, Hongjoong somehow _ still _ isn’t home, although he’d replied to Seonghwa’s worried texts with his usual sarcastic remarks so Seonghwa isn’t _ too _ worried, and two, he wanted to make breakfast before the day’s schedules threw them into a pit of proverbial torture. When San came into the kitchen looking sleepy and vaguely disoriented only minutes ago, Seonghwa had cooed and dragged the younger into a hug while he yawned and made a soft noise at the back of his throat, leaning into the contact, because San is sometimes too adorable for his own good, but never would Seonghwa have expected a question like this to come from him..

“Do you seem—what?” Is all he can get out, still processing the question. San winces like the mere prospect of repeating himself hurts his soul and Seonghwa promptly backtracks, setting down the cooking oil and facing San fully. No, wait, don’t answer that, I know what you said. Sorry, um. But… why are you asking?”

San pouts from where he sits on a barstool, pushing his dark away from his eyes. “Do I really need to give you a reason, hyung?”

Seonghwa purses his lips. “Well, I suppose you don’t,” he muses. “But it would help me figure out a logical answer if you did.”

San sighs, staring daggers into the countertop. He doesn't respond.

Seonghwa can understand that, he thinks to himself as he busies himself with cracking eggs once more. They all have different ways of talking about their feelings, and for San, it’s all about internalizing. He likes evaluating and reevaluating things in his head before he says anything out loud, and from the obvious gears turning in his brain, Seonghwa can tell San hasn’t quite thought through this one yet.

The question itself is off-putting. San has never once talked about his sexuality, so Seonghwa’s always just made his own assumptions, but now that San’s asking he suddenly wonders.

“I talked to Wooyoung last night,” San says after a moment. Seonghwa wipes his hands on a wet rag, being careful to not touch his face until he washes his hands, and he turns around to let San know he’s giving him his undivided attention.

When San doesn’t add anything further, Seonghwa asks, “And what did he say?”

San doesn’t meet his eyes. “I dunno. He said I’m apparently the _ straightest person he’s ever met_, whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean.”

Seonghwa winces. That doesn’t sound good in any context whatsoever. “Damn.”

“I know.” San turns mourning, baleful eyes upon him. “I didn’t like it.”

Seonghwa decides breakfast isn’t important compared to this as he takes the pots off the stove and turns it off in favor of quickly washing his hands before he steps around the counter and sits down in the empty chair next to San. “And did you tell him this?”

San looks… almost ashamed as he says, “No. I think the words got stuck in my throat.”

Seonghwa knows this scenario like the back of his hand. “And so you agreed with him,” he says softly. It isn’t a question, and San nods.

“I did. I just—I mean… I don’t know, hyung. I know Hongjoong hyung just had a talk about this but it’s so hard.”

He looks small, sitting here and practically curling in on himself as he wrings his hands together anxiously, searching Seonghwa’s face, and he aches for him. “I know it’s hard,” he murmurs. “Before I say anything, and if you’re comfortable with telling me this… are you straight, San?”

San purses his lips. For a moment, Seonghwa thinks he’s going to lash out or flat out deny everything, but then—“Definitely not,” he says, “and I also… definitely have a crush on Wooyoungie.”

Well, that much was obvious, but Seonghwa smiles. “Thank you for telling me.”

San looks away. “It’s not a big deal.”

“I hate to break it to you, San,” Seonghwa says carefully. “But it’s definitely kind of a big deal if something Wooyoung said affected you this badly. You’re allowed to have feelings about things.”

San seems… increasingly uncomfortable. “Alright,” he mutters.

Seonghwa decides to change tactics before he accidentally makes the younger boy even more skittish than he clearly already is. “All things considered, though, Sannie—I don’t think he should have said that to you. I mean, we _ all _ assumed he was straight—” Here, the corners of San’s lips twitch, and Seonghwa snorts. “Okay, okay, fine. Out of all of us, Wooyoung is the most… open about his affections. But _ still_. Making assumptions is never good, especially when it’s about things like this, hm?”

“Yeah,” San breathes. “You understand, right, hyung?”

“Maybe too much so,” Seonghwa says with a wince, and San smiles up at him.

“Um, but I’m not…” he pauses his lips pulling back into a quick frown. “I’m not overreacting or anything, right?”

“Absolutely not,” Seonghwa says firmly. He doesn’t know how else to make it clear how wrong San is besides showing him, so he takes the younger boy’s hands in his own and looks him in the eye. San glances back and forth between their joined hands and his face with his mouth turned into a little _ ‘o’ _ that Seonghwa finds oddly endearing.. “Sannie, you seriously aren’t overreacting about this at all, do you understand me? Wooyoung shouldn’t have even said that—it’s insensitive, even if he didn’t necessarily say it with ill intent. You’re allowed to be like, _ what the hell? _ without fearing any sort of backlash or wondering whether or not you’re in the wrong. Alright?”

He’s expecting a million different things from San—anger, perhaps, or an argument that he should feel confused, or maybe plain old silence—but what he most definitely isn’t expecting is for the younger boy to start to cry.

“Fuck,” San mutters, trying to pull himself out of Seonghwa’s grip and failing, a tear dripping down his cheek. He curls in on himself further and Seonghwa’s heart breaks. “I’m sorry, I _ hate _ crying—”

“Sannie,” Seonghwa breathes, and then he gives up and drags San in for a hug, standing up and tugging the younger boy to his chest. “It’s okay to cry. Hyung is here for you.”

San stiffens up against the contact and then relaxes. He doesn’t take it as an initiative to let himself sob into his shirt, nor does he pull away—he breathes in and out slowly and lets Seonghwa smooth a hand over his hair, rocking them back and forth just slightly. It’s peaceful, but Seonghwa feels heartbroken because he knows and understands just how terrible San must be feeling right now as he figures himself out.

But if he doesn’t want to pour his heart out just yet—if he’s comfortable just giving out small bits of information and letting Seonghwa touch him like this—then Seonghwa is fine. He doesn’t mind.

After a few moments, San pulls away and blinks up at him, his eyelashes sticking together with tears not fully shed. “Are you okay?” Seonghwa murmurs.

San pauses before he says, “Nah.”

Seonghwa chuckles, and San grins before he says, “But I will be. Thank you, hyung.”

“Of course,” Seonghwa says simply. “You can always come talk to me when you want to have a chat about something, alright? I’m here for you.”

San looks away when he says this, and Seonghwa raises an eyebrow at him. He knows he’s a bit more intense than the others when it comes to feelings, but he needs San to know this. “Yeah, okay,” he murmurs after a beat. “Do I have every right to be angry at Wooyoung right now?”

Seonghwa snorts. “I mean, I’d probably be pissed. But please don’t give him the silent treatment—communication is key, right?”

San nods. “I don’t think I could ever ignore him for long anyway. I’d start ignoring him by morning and then I’d run into him, and he’d get me to start talking to him again without even trying.”

Seonghwa has to stifle a laugh. “I don’t think Wooyoung would be aware that you were even _ trying _ to ignore him.”

“Jesus,” San mutters in realization, and Seonghwa lets himself snicker. “You’re right. Hyung, I… I think I like him too much.”

Seonghwa sombers again, eyeing San seriously. “There’s no threshold for love, San. But talking to him about it would maybe help.”

San looks sad again. “Well—” he sighs. “Maybe it would. Thank you again.”

“There’s no need to thank me,” says Seonghwa. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Still,” San says with a pout. He wraps his arms around Seonghwa’s waist and pulls him in for another hug before he stands on his tiptoes to kiss his cheek, and Seonghwa finds himself blushing. San’s eyes glint with that familiar telltale spark of mischief in his eyes. “Hey, why are you looking at me like that?”

Seonghwa promptly picks up his jaw from where it’s landed on the ground and shuts his mouth. “I—” he starts weakly.

He’s saved by the door opening and Hongjoong stepping in, looking thoroughly exhausted as he toes his shoes off. His headphones are on and he doesn’t even seem to notice them standing there until he looks up and blinks. His lips tug down into a frown as he stares at them, and it’s only then that Seonghwa realizes the semi-compromising position he and San are in. He steps away but lets San take his hand, opening his mouth and then closing it.

“Hi, hyung,” San says cutely, like he didn't just pour part of his heart out to Seonghwa. “You’re late. Or early, pick your poison.”

“Be quiet,” Hongjoong laughs. It’s a pretty sound, but the way he looks at Seonghwa makes him feel oddly small. “You’re really still awake?”

Seonghwa pouts. “I was making breakfast!”

Both San and Hongjoong snort. The moment feels weirdly stilted, though, in the way Hongjoong simply brushes past him as he makes his way to their room with the excuse of needing at least a half an hour of sleep before he needs to be alive again, and Seonghwa feels—he feels a bit hurt, almost, too used to his leader’s attention at this point. When he turns back to San, the younger boy still has that catlike gleam in his eyes. “Communication is key, right hyung?” He says cheekily.

“Shut up,” Seonghwa mutters.

San simply laughs and dons an apron from a hook on the wall, pushing him back to the stove.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/magic__isiand) // [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/arieshwa)
> 
> both kudos and comments are forever appreciated. comments especially are so motivating, so please feel free to say some kind words and i will love you forever ;;


	3. fingertip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter switches povs every scene, so i hope that isn't too confusing! apologies for the delay again, i'm working on other wips in between college stuff unfortunately lmao
> 
> hope you enjoy!

“Hyung,” Yunho calls playfully as he steps inside the studio. Hongjoong hears the sound of bags rustling behind him and sighs, resisting the urge to slide his headphones up and over his ears. He only stops himself because he doesn’t want to relisten to his shitty current demo, not because he can already hear the pout in Yunho’s voice and instinctively winces.

“Yunho,” Hongjoong drawls back, turning around in his spinny chair to give the younger boy a dry look. Yunho’s wearing a black jacket and ripped blue jeans, two bags of what Hongjoong secretly hopes is food in his hands. His mask is drawn up, but his eyes curve up into crescents as he grins at him. “What are you here for?”

“Just wanted to see you,” Yunho says nonchalantly as he sits down in a free chair, and Hongjoong rolls his eyes. “The rest of the guys have individual schedules, and we haven’t gotten to talk much these days, anyway.” Then his eyes light up. “And I brought chips! And cup ramen, too, because the convenience store just restocked.”

“Yunho, you’re a godsend,” Hongjoong says seriously as Yunho pulls his mask down to sip at his bottle of water. “This is why you’re my favorite.”

Yunho grins and raises an eyebrow at him. “I thought you said Jongho was your favorite?”

Hongjoong pouts. “I’m allowed to have a change of heart or two!”

At this, Yunho laughs. It’s the kind where he has to cover his mouth with his free hand, and Hongjoong feels that familiar pang of fondness hit him as he grins back. “Right,” the younger boy says teasingly. “Well, don’t tell Jongho that.”

“Of course,” Hongjoong says in a faux solemn tone of voice, before he stands. “Hand me the cup ramen and I’ll go heat it up for us.”

Stepping outside of his small, dark studio is a literal breath of fresh air. When he checks a clock on the wall as he heads down the quiet hallway, he notes that he’s been here for barely two hours, but it feels like he entered the studio just thirty minutes ago. Even when he’s struggling to get anything out of his head and into the music itself like he is now, time flies by far too quickly for his liking. Pair that with the dark, soundproof, windowless room that his studio is and he gets the formula to disaster, AKA Sleep-Deprived Hongjoong, though he can’t be fucked to do anything about it half the time.

The members don’t typically visit him often, too. It’s a silent understanding of Hongjoong’s workaholic tendencies and the very real possibility of being proverbially torn apart by Hongjoong himself if he’s interrupted in the middle of an Inspiration Moment. The only person to visit him consistently is Seonghwa, who treats it less like a _ visit _ and more like a prison break in an attempt to lure Hongjoong home. It works around ninety percent of the time, because Hongjoong is disgustingly weak-willed for the older boy—_but that isn’t the point_, he has to tell himself, berating his mind for hovering towards Seonghwa _ again_.

He’s really getting tired of this whole _ crush thing_, as he’s finally managed to label it after walking in on San and Seonghwa talking in the kitchen and feeling a weirdly unfamiliar pit of jealousy begin to grow in his chest. The jealousy hits him in the most random of moments sometimes, completely ignoring his attempts to shove it aside, but—

Hongjoong’s been a mess of feelings for the past few days, and he doesn’t want to acknowledge any of them.

He finds an unopened bottle of Mountain Dew and has to balance the steaming hot cup ramen with the bottle under his arm. When he steps back inside the studio, Yunho’s got his feet kicked up on his set-up as his thumbs tap away on his screen, texting quickly.

“Get your feet off my weapons of mass destruction, you asshole,” he snaps, setting everything down a small side desk. “I can’t believe I’m your hyung and yet you made me get all of this for you before kicking your feet up there!”

Yunho obliges with a wide-eyed pout. “Don’t be mean, hyung,” he says. “You were the one who offered to get the food!”

“Details, details,” Hongjoong says dismissively. Yunho grins and rolls his eyes, picking up his cup and eyeing the Mountain Dew. “Hey, that’s mine. Don’t even look at it, please.”

Yunho grins and winks. “I know you’ll let me steal a few sips anyway.”

Hongjoong groans. He’s completely right, of course, but he won’t give Yunho the satisfaction of conformation. “_Anyway_,” he says instead, ignoring Yunho’s victorious smirk. “Why are you _ really _ here, hm?”

The smirk wipes itself off his face instantly and he looks down, fiddling with the plastic-wrapped chopsticks. “Like I said, I—”

“Bullshit,” Hongjoong interjects, and Yunho blinks. “Yunho, you only used to visit me while I was working before debut, and even then it was only when you wanted to rant to me about something. I’m pretty sure this is the first time since debut that you’ve shown up completely unprompted.”

Yunho pouts. “But—”

“Yunho.” Hongjoong sighs. “If you came here to tell me something, _ please _ spit it out.”

Yunho sags against the chair, staring pointedly at the ground. “I think you know me too well.”

“Definitely,” Hongjoong laughs. “You know why? It’s because you’re predictable as shit—”

“Hey!” Yunho exclaims indignantly, but he seems to relax a little bit.

“—And we’ve known each other for way too long for you to think you can sneak past me,” Hongjoong continues as if Yunho hadn’t opened his mouth. “Now spill before I kick you out. I’d like to actually get some work done before Seonghwa and Jongho start telling me to go home.”

Yunho rolls his eyes. “Okay, okay. So… _ hypothetically_,” he starts slowly, like he’s _ still _ figuring it out. “If I—had, um, a crush on someone.”

Hongjoong can’t even say he’s surprised. Instead he nods, blowing into his cup in a poor attempt at cooling it down because he heated it up way too high while he was in his own head. “Hypothetically,” he says flatly.

Yunho nods vigorously as if he’s really, _ really _ trying to get this specific point across. Hongjoong isn’t fooled, of course, because it only makes him look more suspicious. “Yes, hypothetically. Now, let's… consider the _ hypothetical _ possibility of me currently liking more than one person too.”

This makes Hongjoong pause and raise an eyebrow. He wasn’t expecting to hear that at all. “Oh, really?”

Yunho nods again, this time with a pout turning the corners of his lips downwards. “Yes. And hypothetically, in this hypothetical situation, I’m close with both of these people and they’re close with each other.”

This is starting to give Hongjoong a headache. He sets his cup ramen down, his stomach mourning the loss, and rubs at his temple before squinting at the younger boy, who looks nervously up at him before glancing away. “Alright. First off, can we get rid of the hypotheticals?”

Yunho blushes. “I mean, if you want…”

“Yeah, let’s do that,” Hongjoong deadpans. “Because this sure as hell isn’t just some personal social experiment you set up in your own head, or else you wouldn’t be here trying to discuss it with me. Are these people you have a crush on—do I know them?”

Yunho purses his lips and continues to refuse making eye contact with him. Hongjoong sighs internally. This might be a long, long conversation. “Maybe,” he says elusively.

“Maybe,” he repeats dryly. Yunho shrugs, and he drags a hand over his face wearily. “You’re being ridiculous. You know I would never judge you, right?”

Yunho pouts even harder. “I—hyung, I _ know _ that. But I’ve never admitted this to anyone out loud before, so—I think I’m allowed to be worried?” He phrases it like a question, as though he can’t even tell for himself.

Hongjoong sighs and frowns. “Okay. You know what? Good point,” he says. He thinks about how hard it would be to tell Yunho about his maybe-sort-of-crush on Seonghwa and finds that it’s a lot easier to understand his current predicament in comparison.

Yunho says, “Exactly.”

Hongjoong rolls his eyes. “Look, though—it’d be easier for me to help if you could stop being so antsy about it. You can trust me, okay? I’m not gonna make it a big deal or anything. Now, do I know them?”

Yunho sighs. “Yes, you do.”

Hongjoong grins triumphantly. “See? That wasn’t so hard. Are they in our group?”

By now, he knows the answer to this question, but he knows he needs confirmation to continue. In the dim lighting of the studio, Yunho looks pale, expression pinched as though it’s hard for him to even get it out in the first place. “Um,” he starts, clearing his throat, and Hongjoong decides to be patient. “Y-yeah, they are.”

Hongjoong tries not to immediately jump to speculating. He knows, for sure, that one of the crushes _ has _ to be Mingi—they’ve been acting way too awkward around each other for that not to be true—but he can’t put his finger on who the other crush would be. But this also means that Yunho’s inadvertently coming out to him, so he needs to tread carefully. There’s a glint of vulnerability in Yunho’s gaze as it settles on him that makes Hongjoong realize he needs to take on his leader position more forcefully, and quickly.

“Thank you for telling me, first of all,” he says slowly. He tries not to roll his eyes at the way Yunho visibly cringes, though he completely relates. “Listen, I’m just glad we’re close enough to be able to tell each other these things. It’s not a big deal to me unless it’s something that’s been eating at you.”

“It definitely has been,” Yunho sighs. “This has all been so weird. I thought—that once the other members came out themselves, it’d be easy, but things got so messy.”

Hongjoong is so curious to find out more, but he reigns himself in and nods thoughtfully. “You’re right. I mean, but that’s okay as long as we work on it, right?”

Yunho mutters, “I guess.”

Hongjoong smiles. “Did you want to tell me who these crushes are specifically, or no?”

Yunho’s ears darken even further, as if that were possible, and Hongjoong politely chooses not to comment. “U-um,” he starts, and then clears his throat. “Well. Take a guess, maybe?”

Hongjoong squints at him. “You want me to _ guess _ at who your crushes are?”

Yunho looks mortified. “Um. I’m stalling, if that wasn’t already obvious.”

“No, I can tell,” Hongjoong mutters. “Fine, I’ll take a stab at it. One of your crushes is _ definitely _ Mingi, and if you tell me I’m wrong I’m making Mingi come here himself so you can confess to him, you liar.”

“I wasn’t even—” Yunho sputters for a moment, looking thoroughly embarrassed as he covers his face with his hands. It’s endearing and Hongjoong has to hold back a smile. “I wasn’t going to say no! I mean, you’re right, but—you don’t have to say it like _ that_, hyung!”

Hongjoong can’t help it—he laughs, and Yunho’s pout softens into a self-conscious smile. “You two were just being pretty obvious,” he explains. “So I’m not surprised. Honestly, I’m not surprised any of us have been so weird. But what’s up between you two?”

Yunho looks away again, clearly uncomfortable. Hongjoong’s about to back off when he says, “I was his first kiss, back when we were trainees.”

Hongjoong’s eyes widen. “You two got up to stuff back then?”

The crass wording makes Yunho flush immediately. “I—again, not like _ that_, hyung. I mean—it never got past… um, making out. You know.”

“Interesting,” Hongjoong murmurs to himself. He thinks about how he walked in on Yeosang and Wooyoung just the other day and how secretive they’ve been since, and frowns. “I guess it didn’t turn out well?”

“It was fine, at first,” Yunho explains, wringing his hands together. “After a while, schedules got too busy so we just… stopped. It was a mutual thing. But when he and Yeosang and Wooyoung and… well, you know. When that happened, he told me he liked me back—”

Hongjoong’s eyes widen. “_ What? _”

“Yeah.” Except Yunho’s grimacing, so whatever he's about to say can’t be good. Hongjoong raises an eyebrow.

“I… don’t get it. You like him, he likes you, so…?”

“I chickened out, hyung,” Yunho groans. “I didn’t tell him that I liked him back at all, I just—got super evasive, and he took it the wrong way—not that he _ shouldn’t _ have taken it the wrong way, but still—and we’ve been… acting weird ever since.”

Hongjoong blinks at Yunho, who looks thoroughly embarrassed with himself. Frustration begins bubbling up underneath his skin, though he tries to stem it as he pinches the bridge of his nose. “You’re kidding,” he says slowly.

“I wish I was,” Yunho says balefully.

“This is the exact problem I wanted us all to avoid,” Hongjoong sighs. “I’m not trying to blame you or anything, first of all. Let me get that out of the way. Things like that can happen, I guess. But you guys are _ best friends._ You really let that get to you and then let it go for _ this _ long?”

“I don’t know,” Yunho sighs. “I think part of me assumed it would go away on its own—I know, it’s stupid,” he says when he catches Hongjoong’s incredulous look. “I don’t know why I was so optimistic, hyung. But things are so weird now… sometimes we talk and other times we completely ignore each other. I don’t know what to make of it.”

Hongjoong purses his lips. “Have you tried talking to him about the conflict itself, or can I assume you’re being too dumb for that too?” At the flinch Yunho gives in response, Hongjoong backtracks. “I’m sorry, Yunho. I’m just trying to make sense of this. The logical thing to do is talk about it, obviously?”

“I’m aware,” Yunho says. “And I want to. Really, I do, but it’s so weird now. He acts so hot and cold sometimes.”

Hongjoong dwells on that for a moment. It’s definitely true—Mingi could be slippery during conflict, something Hongjoong only learned after years of knowing him. “He’s someone that kind of needs to be backed into a corner to really understand things, if that makes sense,” he muses aloud. “If you don’t, he’s going to constantly go back and forth between _ everything’s fine _ and complete avoidance, you know?”

Yunho sighs. “I do.”

“Good,” he says. “But one of you needs to act on it, Yunho, because you can be slippery too. Don’t let it fester for any longer or we’ll start having even more problems than we already do. Make it clear what you want from him—”

“I’m not sure he’d like the idea of… me having a crush on someone else too, hyung,” Yunho points out with a wince. 

“That’s his problem,” Hongjoong says simply. “Which, hypothetically, you could work out with him. I say _ hypothetically _ here because you seem too scared to even confront him right now—”

“Hey!” Yunho protests.

“—But it’s okay to like more than one person, Yunho,” Hongjoong continues on, peering at his best friend. “Don’t feel bad about it.”

Yunho wrings his fingers together, searching Hongjoong’s face intently for a moment. “Alright,” he murmurs.

Hongjoong nods. “Do I get to know who your second crush is?” He asks slowly.

Immediately, Yunho looks clammed up again, and Hongjoong internally winces. “U-uh…” he starts out, before quickly shaking his head. “Not quite sure if I’m ready for that.”

“That’s fine,” Hongjoong says, though he finds himself staring at the way Yunho’s are darkneing again, unable to meet his eyes once more, and he… wonders.

It’s as though Yunho’s read his mind, though, because he squints at Hongjoong for a moment before he says, “Don’t worry, hyung. It isn’t you.”

Hongjoong snorts. “Oh, shut up.”

As they move on to other topics, picking up their now-cooled down food, however, Hongjoong finds that it’s hard to shake the weird, lingering feeling in his chest. He isn’t dumb enough to deny that it’s disappointment of some sort, but he tries to write it off as worry for the group anyway, because Hongjoong is sarting to think he isn’t built for this kind of thing.

♡

“Hyung, why do you look so worried?” Mingi asks, frowning and tilting his head to the side confusedly.

Seonghwa realizes he’s scowling at himself in the mirror and quickly schools his features into a carefully indifferent expression. “It’s nothing, Mingi,” he dismisses. “Did you want to use the bathroom?”

Mingi nods slowly, still squinting at him with his oddly intense stare, and Seonghwa makes room for him to step inside. He’s about to step out himself when he feels arms wrapping around him suddenly before he’s pulled into a hug. Seonghwa squeaks into Mingi’s chest. “What’s all this about?” He murmurs fondly, voice muffled into Mingi’s shirt.

“Haven’t talked to you much recently, hyung,” Mingi says, before pulling away and smiling down at him, though something in his expression seems guarded. “I think I’m starting to miss you even though we live together?”

Seonghwa feels a twinge of guilt in his chest looking up at him. “I’m sorry, Mingi,” he apologizes sincerely. “I’ve been caught up in… a lot of things.”

“I can tell,” Mingi says simply, though not unkindly. “I feel like everyone’s been a little distant.”

“True,” Seonghwa murmurs. “We’ve all been understandably tired. I’ll do my best to not be withdrawn, though, okay?”

Mingi grins. “Yeah. Thanks, hyung.”

Seonghwa gives the younger boy one last hug before he pulls away to leave him to get ready for practice. As he makes his way back to his room, he reassesses his recent behavior.

It’s true that he’s been vaguely… distant, but only because he’s been trying to sort out the mess of their recent communication problems. It’s half out of a genuine want for things to go back to normal and half out of frustration because he _ genuinely _ thought they all knew better than to let tensions fester like this—but apparently that isn’t true, considering everything that’s been happening within the dorm.

He passes Yeosang and Wooyoung’s room just as the door flies open, which makes him startle embarrassedly. Yeosang yelps as he steps out of the room and nearly crashes into him. “_Yeosang_,” Seonghwa hisses when he recovers. “Please be careful.”

“Sorry, hyung,” Yeosang says sheepishly with a wince. Seonghwa only manages to catch the unnaturally bright red blush on his cheeks and the fact that he’s definitely wearing Wooyoung’s clothes before he manages to slip past Seonghwa and makes his way to the kitchen briskly.

Seonghwa blinks after him, inwardly cringing for a moment at the fact that Yeosang’s only wearing one sock before he refocuses and peers into the room, where Wooyoung idly scrolls through his phone on Yeosang’s bed as though nothing happened. “D’you need something, hyung?” He asks absently.

Seonghwa is about to say no and move on when he realizes—he does have something to say to Wooyoung, he just hasn’t thought it out thoroughly. But he decides now is probably the best time to do so, considering the fact that San’s probably still sleeping and Wooyoung seems wide awake.

“Actually, I do have something to ask, if that’s alright,” Seonghwa says slowly. “Can I come in?”

Wooyoung wrinkles his nose. “No need to be so formal, hyung,” he says, beckoning him in. “What did you want to talk about?”

“Well...” Seonghwa starts slowly, trying to pick his words carefully. A part of him wants to take this slow and roundabout, but he also knows Wooyoung probably appreciates bluntness more even if it ends up hurting him. “I've noticed you and San acting... weird, each other.”

Immediately, Wooyoung's lips pull into a frown. “Sorry, what? How?”

He seems genuinely confused, and Seonghwa tries not to sigh as he realizes he's going to have to simply say it flat-out for Wooyoung to understand. “A few mornings ago, San asked me if he seemed... _ straight _ to me.”

Wooyoung blinks at him for a few moments before it seems to click in his head. “Oh,” he breathes. “That.”

Seonghwa rolls his eyes. “Yes, that indeed. He told me that you... blatantly assumed his sexuality when he asked a genuine question.”

Wooyoung's already avoiding his gaze. “I didn't mean it like that.”

“I know, Wooyoung,” Seonghwa says. “I think it'd be pretty bad if you did mean it _ like that_. But, you know—it was still insensitive. Imagine if you asked me and I labeled you as something you really weren't with enough conviction to make it almost seem real.”

He realizes his mistake the moment Wooyoung's brows furrow. “Are you saying he isn't straight, hyung?”

_ Fuck_, he thinks to himself. Obviously, a conversation like this was bound to reach that topic at some point, but Seonghwa was hoping to ignore it completely if possible. “I think that's a question you need to ask San himself and not me,” he answers honestly, before rolling his shoulders back and continuing. “Anyway, I just need you to realize how rude saying that to anyone, especially someone who's as close to you as San is, can sound, even if you don't mean it to sound that way.”

Wooyoung runs a hand through his hair worriedly. “I really didn't know I was being insensitive,” he says. “I mean, he seemed... subdued after I said it, but I thought he was just... you know, thinking over things. He does that a lot.”

Seonghwa winces. “A lot is an understatement. But do you understand where I'm coming from, Wooyoung?”

“I do,” Wooyoung sighs, looking regretful as he stares at his hands. “I feel bad now. Sometimes I forget I can offend the people closest to me, you know? Should I—I should go apologize to him soon, huh?”

Seonghwa nods, feeling relieved. “That would probably be the best thing to do. I'm sure he's still feeling a bit weird about it.”

Yeosang steps back inside with two cups of milk, blinking at Seonghwa when he notices him standing there before he sits next to Wooyoung, who accepts the cup gratefully as he murmurs, “I wish he trusted me with these things a little more. I'm never trying to hurt his feelings.”

“That's a communication issue you two need to resolve at some point,” Seonghwa says. “Sometimes you're too blunt and blissfully unaware of the aftermath, and sometimes San gets too into his own head about specific things, you know?”

At the mention of San, Yeosang's brows burrow confusedly as he sips at his cup, peering at Seonghwa for a few moments before looking away. Seonghwa finds himself wondering, not for the first time, if something is up between Yeosang and San too, but he tries not to think about it too hard.

Wooyoung nods. “I get what you mean, hyung. I'll try to be more sensitive to everyone in general, and I'll apologize.”

“Thank you, Wooyoungie,” Seonghwa says gratefully. “I'm not trying to paint you as a bad person, by the way, so sorry if I'm making you feel that way. I just need us all to be more open with each other, okay? San probably should've said something about it right away as well. Everyone here has things to work on.”

“Let's be real, hyung,” Wooyoung says, looking a little pained. “If he did say something, we probably would've started arguing.”

Seonghwa snorts, before he remembers what San had said before, when he came to him with his predicament—the fact that he'd never be able to _ actually _ be mad at Wooyoung for too long. “I guess so.”

“I know we’re best friends and all, but…” Wooyoung sighs, looking more than a little lost as he burrows further into Yeosang, who takes it nonchalantly. Seonghwa watches them both, feeling painfully fond before Wooyoung continues. “Misunderstandings happen, I guess.”

“Oh, definitely,” Seonghwa agrees.

“I mean,” Yeosang adds slowly. “The past few weeks in general have felt like one big misunderstanding.”

Wooyoung giggles at this. “Good point. We suck at this, right, hyung?”

Seonghwa finds himself grinning. “Without a doubt.”

They lapse into a comfortable silence for a few moments. Seonghwa watches the way Wooyoung leans into Yeosang with the easiness of someone used to it, and the way Yeosang moves his thumb over his friend’s shoulder soothingly. Something—a fragmented memory—tugs at him, though he can’t identify it. Wooyoung says, “Thank you, hyung,” so sincerely it nearly gives Seonghwa a toothache simply because he isn’t one hundred percent used to this side of him yet. “I’ll be more aware next time.”

“That’s all I need,” Seonghwa says gently. “So thank you for listening.”

As he steps out of their room, he hears Yeosang murmur, “What even happened?”

And Wooyoung sighs. “I may have been a bit of a bitch.”

Seonghwa closes their door softly and contemplates the way Yeosang’s tone had been just shy of almost accusatory, like Wooyoung not telling him anything genuinely hurt his feelings.

And then he remembers what memory had been resurfacing—back when Hongjoong held their group meeting, he seemed awkward after coming out of Wooyoung and YEosang’s room. And when he’d brought up the topic of safe sex seemingly out of nowhere, he’d promised to tell Seonghwa later—though he never did, because he’s been acting distant ever since San had approached him that early morning.

Maybe _ distant _ was too strong of a word to use. _ He’s busy_, Seonghwa tells himself. _ You don’t need his attention all the time. _ Except now, he thinks he needs to quell the burning curiosity inside him as he pads down to the kitchen, taking his phone out. `Hey, remember when you told me why you brought up sex during our meeting the other day??`, he texts, too impatient to bother with small talk.

Hongjoong’s reply is surprisingly quick. `oh shoot, i forgot ;;`, he says.

`Not surprised!`, Seonghwa sends back

`shut up`, Hongjoong types quickly. `but yeah, i guess i should tell you`.

Then Seongwha watches the typing bubble appear and disappear randomly for a few more moments before he gives up, turning his phone off in favor of greeting Jongho, who leans against the counter as he types away at his own screen. Guilt gnaws at him again when he realizes he hasn’t had a proper conversation with Jongho in a few days, either, though their youngest waves him off kindly.

“We’re all tired and stressed out, hyung, so don’t worry,” he reassures, and Seonghwa sighs, frowning.

“Okay, but you’ll tell me—or anyone, for that matter—if you do want to talk about something, right?”

For a moment, Jongho seems to hesitate, glancing away from Seonghwa before he nods. “Yes, I know. Thanks.”

Seonghwa wants to press him a little, but his phone vibrates in his hand and he gets distracted, turning it on and squinting at his screen. 

`i may or may not have walked in on wooyoung and yeosang doing… something? i don’t know what it was because i think it happened right before i told them to get out and go to the living room, but they definitely did something. didn’t deny it either. yeosang had a hickey. don’t tell anyone i told you this.`

Seonghwa blinks at his screen, dumbfounded before he fully processes it. `Oh…`, he types, at a genuine loss for words.

`i know. and i just needed to let everyone know that i don’t care unless they’re being safe with each other`, Hongjoong types, `because i’m not really surprised. we’re a bunch of hormonal young adults, you know?`

And then—`i hope you don’t find it weird`, he adds, and Seonghwa rushes to reply.

`Of course not`, he texts. `It’s fine. Actually, if anyone were to start doing this, it would be them.`

`i know right ㅋㅋㅋ`, Hongjoong sends. `it’s okay. i’m not too bothered by it. i mean, i do think it's kind of weird to think about them doing anything together, but it isn't my business either.`

Seonghwa contemplates the thought of Wooyoung and Yeosang doing something like making out and finds himself shying away from the thought, feeling his cheeks heat instinctively. `If you aren’t bothered then I’m not bothered either`, Seonghwa types, before he realizes how weird that sounds and backtracks.

`I don't think it's too much of a big deal anyway`, he sends instead, though as he stands there, he realizes—_San_.

He’d informed Seonghwa of his crush on Wooyoung the day Hongjoong had caught Wooyoung and Yeosang doing whatever they’d been doing. The realization makes him freeze in his spot before the frustration takes over and he groans, resisting the urge to knock his head onto the countertop.

“Hyung?” Jongho says confusedly, and Seonghwa drags a hand over his face.

“Don’t worry, I’m fine,” he says wearily. _ This is so messed up_, he thinks. All of the different things going on are getting to be so intricate that he can’t even keep track of it properly anymore. But he worries most for San, knowing it’ll leave him distracted for most of the day.

_ Don’t tell anyone I told you this_, Hongjoong had sent him. Seonghwa purses his lips and opens the fridge, resolving to talk to Hongjoong about it when he can manage to get their leader to himself for once.

♡

The dorm is quiet and dim when Yunho and Yeosang step in. The exhaustion of the day always hits him right when he enters and he sighs as he runs a hand through his hair. “Wanna take a shower first?” He asks Yeosang, who rolls his shoulders back and shrugs.

“You can go if you want.”

“It’s fine,” Yunho reassures, and Yeosang clearly can’t find it in him to press it any further because he simply trudges down the hall with a soft _ goodnight_. Yunho checks his phone for the time—23:47, it reads, and he sighs, already knowing how little sleep he’ll get in between getting ready for bed and tossing and turning for another hour or so. He makes his way to his room, feeling bone-deep tired.

Yunho wants to say he’s surprised San’s in his bed instead of the upper bunk that actually belongs to him as he steps inside his room, but that would be a lie. He also wishes he could be surprised at the flip his heart does in his chest looking at the sight of his friend swaddled up in his blankets, absentmindedly scrolling through his phone—but, well. He’s established how much of a moot point that would be by now.

Instead he shuts the door and raises an eyebrow at San, who looks up at him and smiles. “Hey, Yunho,” he says easily, setting his phone down to stretch. “It’s nearly midnight.”

Yunho winces and drops his bag. “Yeah, sorry. I was at practice with Yeosang and lost track of time.”

In the low, soft lamplight, San’s face grows pinched with something indiscernible before he’s back to smiling.

“You don’t have to apologize,” he says. “As per usual, of course, Mingi and Hongjoong hyung are still at the studio.”

He hates the way his heart instinctively picks up at the mention of Mingi, and then picks up further at the mention of Hongjoong as he remembers the events of this afternoon. He realizes he’s frowning and schools his features into something he hopes resembles an easy smile as he says, “That’s so unsurprising. They’ll probably come home at three in the morning again.”

He can tell San doesn’t quite buy it, the younger boy raising an eyebrow. “Mhm.”

They stare at each other for a few more moments, clearly trying to figure each other out. It’s weirdly awkward, until San says, “Go take a shower and then come cuddle with me.”

Predictably enough, Yunho blushes. “Um, okay. If you want.”

“Wouldn’t be in your bed if I _ didn’t _ want to cuddle with you,” San says cheekily, picking his phone back up. “Duh.”

This, of course, only makes him blush harder, and he rushes back out of the room after grabbing his towel as quickly as he can. He has to wait for Yeosang, so he sits on the couch and scrolls through his phone. Seonghwa’s still up, though he looks half-dead as he taps quickly at screen. “You look stressed.” Yunho comments, and Seonghwa pouts.

“I’m just texting my mom,” he explains as he drags a weary hand down his face. “How are you?”

“I’m fine, hyung,” Yunho says. “Maybe you should go to sleep.”

“Maybe,” Seonghwa sighs. Then he squints and asks, “Hey, how is San doing?”

Yunho blinks. There’s something hard to read in Seonghwa’s expression, as though the older boy’s suddenly hiding something, which is weird. “He’s fine, I guess. Why?”

Seonghwa peers at him intently as if trying to discern something before he shrugs. “Just making sure. He seemed a little down recently.”

Yunho frowns. “Really? I feel bad for not noticing…”

He really hadn’t noticed, too in his head recently to pick up on any worrying behavior from his friend. Maybe that’s why San wants to cuddle as badly as he does right now. Seonghwa purses his lips and shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it, Yunho. He’s not very good at opening up, anyway.”

Yunho snorts. “Good point.”

“I’d appreciate it if you could keep an eye on him, though,” Seonghwa continues carefully, like he isn’t quite sure how Yunho would respond to this. “Just for the time being, if that’s okay? Since you two are roommates.”

He’s talking so stiffly that it makes Yunho narrow his eyes, trying to figure it out. Not like it’ll be hard to keep an eye on San, but—“Is something the matter, hyung?” He asks slowly.

Seonghwa sighs wearily. “Not really. I just worry, you know?”

That’s… definitely true. Yunho can sense there’s something more to his words, but he shrugs and says, “Understandable. I’ll keep an eye on him for you, hyung, so don’t worry.”

Seonghwa gives him a sweet smile that makes his heart flutter instinctively. “Thanks so much, Yunho. I’m gonna sleep now. Get some rest soon, okay?”

His gaze is soft on Yunho’s and he flounders for a moment before managing to get out a weak, “Of course. Goodnight, hyung.”

It’s still another few long minutes before Yeosang finally steps out of the bathroom, drying his hair with a towel before he rushes into his room. Yunho’s in his own head as he showers, contemplating his earlier words with Hongjoong. He’s glad he felt comfortable enough with their leader to tell him about what’s been bothering him for months now, but part of him is anxious knowing yet another member knows, even if it’s someone he’s been friends with for as long as he’s been friends with Hongjoong. Especially with Mingi giving him space right now—essentially avoiding him, which bothers him so much he almost drops the bar of soap on his toe.

He still doesn’t quite understand what happened—the night after the gay role call (Wooyoung’s words, not his), he’d been giving Mingi a light massage, something they all were accustomed to, considering Mingi’s back aches. It had been comfortable, chatting back and forth, and then Mingi said—

“I hope you don’t think it’s weird now,” he said quietly, suddenly shy, and Yunho racked his brain for a few moments, trying to figure out what he’d been talking about before he remembered.

“It’s not weird at all,” he’d assured Mingi immediately, rubbing his thumbs over Mingi’s shoulder blades soothingly. “Don’t think like that, Mingi. You’re still the same person you were before you came out.”

Mingi was silent. In their years of friendship, Yunho learned to read Mingi’s mood better than Mingi himself, and the confident way he expressed himself always contrasted the occasional quiet insecurity underneath. Yunho had been prepared to offer himself as a shoulder to cry on, but when Mingi had whispered, “Can I assume you don’t feel the same way towards me that I’ve felt towards you this entire time, or…?”—he simply froze.

Yunho beats himself up even now for the way he’d stiffened and stayed quiet for a moment too long, watching with an almost out-of-body feeling as Mingi brushed his hands aside, unable to meet his eyes. The only words he’d managed to get out were a choked, whispered, “It’s not like that—”

“I know,” Mingi said. His gaze was sad even as he squared his shoulders. “I should’ve just assumed. Sorry.”

Yunho stands there under the spray of the shower, water slowly going cold and raising goosebumps up his arms as he repeats it over and over again.

He also just _ knows _ Hongjoong’s probably a little bothered over the fact that Yunho couldn’t even tell him who his second crush was. But the thought of opening up about that now leaves a bad taste in his mouth, so he tries not to dwell on it.

Alright, maybe he needs a nap. And some cuddles from San, who makes grabby hands at him once he steps back inside their room, drying his hair off and not even bothering with blow-drying it as he pulls his sweatpants on. He’s tempted to go shirtless just for the fun of it, but when he turns around, San's looking him up and down slowly before they meet eyes and he looks away quickly. Yunho blushes and slips on a baggy white t-shirt before he motions at San to make room so he can crawl in.

It’s a tight fit, San practically squishing himself up against the wall as Yunho settles before he squeezes himself in as close as possible, throwing an arm and a leg over Yunho and tucking his head into the crook of his neck. 

“You’re so stiff,” San sighs after a few comfortably quiet moments. “Do you need a massage?”

Yunho grits his teeth against the involuntary flinch at the words, trying not to let his mind stray to what happened a few weeks earlier. Instead, he says, “No, it’s fine. Just… too into my own head.”

“Relatable,” San says seriously. “Wanna talk about it?”

“It’s okay,” Yunho murmurs, curling his fingers through the younger boy’s hair and cursing his pulse for kicking embarrassingly at the way San lets out a content little sound at the feeling and tries to snuggle closer. “Do _ you _ want to talk about it?”

There’s a weight behind his words now, knowing what Seonghwa said before he went to sleep. San pauses, and then—“Hm, nope.”

Yunho huffs out a laugh. “Okay, that’s fine.”

“Yeah.” San takes Yunho’s free hand in his own and intertwines their fingers.

It’s… painfully intimate, how close they are. The door is closed and the lamplight just barely flickers enough light across the room for Yunho to catch the outline of where their bodies are pressed together. San is a warm, comforting weight against him, and Yunho has to tell himself to stop letting his mind wander, because it isn’t like that. It literally _ never _ will be, and he hates himself for idealizing it all the same. 

Crushes of any form, he’s decided, really aren’t worth it. Especially when he’s crushing on two of his closest friends—it’s too much.

San breaks through his moment of self-loathing with a whisper of, “I have a question.”

“Yeah?” Yunho replies. He shifts a little and San is suddenly even closer to him, if possible, his head firmly tucked into the crook of his neck so that Yunho is forced to go through the painfully real ordeal of San’s breath coming out in little puffs against his neck and the slightest, barely-there brush of lips against skin. It makes him malfunction for a moment.

“Have you… ever kissed anyone?” San asks slowly.

Yunho’s breath catches in his throat as he tries to process the question, stopping his ministrations through San’s hair and ignoring the younger boy’s small noise of protest. “Um,” he starts. “Is there a specific reason why you’re asking?”

“Clearly,” San says dryly. “And you don’t have to answer the question if you aren’t comfortable, I just—”

“No, it’s okay, San,” Yunho reassures, before he exhales slowly. “... But yeah, I’ve kissed a few people.”

San hums and the feeling sends vibrations through his neck, forcing him to suppress a shiver. “That’s cool. What do you mean by a few?”

Yunho grimaces, feeling his ears grow hot. “Like, three people. I’m not, like… experienced in that realm, or anything.”

San stifles a chuckle. “Ah, I’m not experienced either. Like at all, actually.”

“Hm, really?” Yunho murmurs. Something about this conversation feels stilted, like San’s simply probing around for an answer to a question he can’t seem to ask directly, but he decides to give him time. “No first kiss, then?”

San sighs. “No. It’s kind of fucking embarrasing when I think about it now.”

“Don’t worry,” Yunho says seriously. “Really, Sannie, it’s not something to be ashamed of. You’re allowed to take your time.”

San huffs in annoyance. “I know that, don’t worry. But, I mean—we’re idols now, you know? Can’t exactly take the time to find anyone to give me that. Not like it’s important.”

Okay, Yunho can see where this conversation is going with perfect clarity, and it sends his mind reeling with the possibilities. First of all, he doesn’t even know what San identifies as or who he likes—but he thinks he can make an assumption with this and doesn’t want to ask. He’s torn between what he should actually do versus what San would want, and then realizes he’ll get nowhere if he internalizes, choosing the method that makes the most sense to him and rolling with it.

“Is that something you’d like to experience… soon?” He asks carefully.

San stiffens up against him, and Yunho resumes curling his fingers through his dark hair in a subconscious attempt to help him feel comfortable. “Uh,” he says, clearly at a loss for words. “I… I guess I’d like that?”

God, Yunho can’t believe this is happening. “Well,” he says. “If you want to, and if you trust me enough, I can show you what it’s like.”

San’s breath hitches as he falls silent. He’s quiet long enough for Yunho’s heart to begin racing out of sheer anxiety in his ribcage, and he’s about to ask if he went too far when the younger boy asks, “You’d do that?”

“I think you initiated this conversation with the hope that I’d offer?” Yunho ventures. San’s awkward silence and the feeling of his cheek against his collarbone growing increasingly warm is confirmation enough on its own, and he continues. “I’m just saying, San. It’s an offer. You can reject it, or say yes, or put it off as long as you need to. I don’t mind as long as you’re comfortable.”

San’s clearly struggling to formulate a reply, and Yunho’s starting to feel bad, like he’s pushing him into something he may not actually want. But then—“I did ask for that reason,” he mumbles after a moment, burying his face further into Yunho’s neck. “And—I think I want it. Like, now. It’s just… been itching at me, and I trust you, so…”

He trails off, sounding thoughtful, but Yunho’s pretty sure his own brain checked out as soon as San opened his mouth. Blood rushes through his ears and he blinks up at the ceiling of his bunk bed, trying to decipher whether or not what’s happening is actually happening or if it’s just a dream. “Okay,” Yunho squeaks. “Yeah. We can do that. Here?”

“Y-yes, if that’s fine,” San says quietly. He pulls himself up a little, and even though Yunho’s eyes have adjusted to the dark it’s still difficult to see him properly, though he can feel his friend’s gaze trained on his face. “Sorry if I’m imposing.”

“I promise you’re not,” Yunho says, taking San’s hand in his and pressing a kiss to his knuckles, hiding a smile when the younger boy whines, clearly embarrassed. “Don’t ever feel like you’re imposing, because you never are. It’s alright to ask, I don’t mind.” _ And it’s not like I haven’t already done this with another bandmate, _ a part of him thinks bitterly, but he shoves that quiet voice to the back of his mind in favor of directing all of his attention to San, who swallows thickly.

“Uh, okay. What should I…?”

“I’ll lead you through it,” Yunho reassures, smoothing a hand over his hair before he settles it on the back of his neck. San is pliant when he pulls him in a little closer, though the rest of him seems completely frozen. “You’re good?”

“Of course,” San replies.

Yunho pulls him in closer some more until their noses are brushing, before he thinks _ fuck it_, tilting his head and letting their lips brush.

It’s an awkward position, but that doesn’t lessen the tingle in Yunho’s lips when he pulls away for a brief moment, trying to gauge San’s reaction before he goes in again. This time he closes his lips around San’s and revels in the surprised little noise San lets out at the feeling before the younger boy presses down further. It’s clumsy in that Yunho has to try and work around San’s obvious inexperience and San doesn’t do much more than sit there and take it at first—but he really doesn’t mind, because…

Well, he’s kissing someone he’s had a crush on for a few months now. He’s _ teaching his crush how to kiss _ for the second time and feeling him reciprocate after a few moments, San’s lips closing around his bottom lip and pulling lightly until Yunho makes a soft noise. And as much as Yunho wants to push further, he isn’t sure if that’s what San himself wants, so after a few minutes he pulls back.

San chases after him.

Suddenly it’s a lot at once, and Yunho’s mind decides to blank out instead of catching up with what’s happening. Somewhere along the way, San swings his leg full over Yunho’s hips and then shifts his weight so that he’s on top of him, and their fingers detangle only for Yunho to settle his hand on the younger boy’s waist, heat flashing through him at how_ small _ San is compared to him. And San—he’s still clumsy, but he’s most definitely a quick learner, he thinks as his teeth sink into his bottom lip.

“_San_,” he gasps, and San’s tongue presses softly at the seam of his lips. Yunho’s half-shocked at the forwardness of it all, half sluggishly satisfied with the probably-too-fast pace they’re going at as he opens his mouth. Immediately San’s diving in, making a low, soft noise as he licks into Yunho’s mouth, and Yunho takes it with a soft moan of his own, his heart racing.

They go on like that for what feels like hours. When San sucks on his tongue tentatively is when Yunho breaks, pulling him away and groaning quietly at the way a string of spit connects their lips. 

San pouts down at him, eyes flickering in the lamplight, and Yunho feels _ so screwed_. “Why’d you stop?” He whines.

“If you went any further I would’ve lost it,” Yunho admits weakly.

San giggles. “So… that was good?”

“Way too good,” he sighs, smoothing his hand up San’s waist feeling acutely how he shivers underneath his touch. The urge to move his hand up and underneath San’s t-shirt is so overwhelmingly strong that it makes his fingertips ache with it, but he stems it as much as he can. “I enjoyed that thoroughly.”

San searches his face so intently that Yunho feels physically pinned to the bed, before he murmurs, “Good. We should do that again sometime.”

_ No_, the rational part of his mind screams. _ Don’t. Let’s not do that ever again, because that wouldn’t be good for either of us or my heart, and I don’t want to hurt you or have you hurt me_.

“Yeah, of course,” is what he replies dumbly, and his heart kicks in his chest when San breaks into a smile above him. “I’d love that.”

San presses a soft kiss to his cheek with a little _ thank you _ before he gets off Yunho and curls up next to him again. At Yunho’s quizzical little noise, he says, “Um, can I just stay here for the night? I know the bed is small—”

Yunho hushes him. “It’s okay. If I wake up half-off the bed that’s on me, I think. Go to sleep.”

It’s late, but he doesn’t fall asleep for a while, even as San’s inhales and exhales even out and he begins to snore quietly. Instead Yunho stays awake to ponder the mistake he’s making for a second time with his second crush, and wonders how long it’ll be before he pushes them all over the edge.

♡

When Wooyoung drops to his knees in front of Yeosang from where he sits on the edge of the bed, Yeosang promptly chokes on his spit.

Needless to say the mood is partially ruined as Yeosang is forced to busy himself with _ not _ hacking up a lung as Wooyoung bursts out laughing and makes absolutely no move to actually help, the little bastard. By the time Yeosang's done nearly dying, both his lungs and ego feel permanently bruised. “Sorry,” he says hoarsely.

Wooyoung wipes a few overwhelmed tears from the corners of his eyes, trying to stifle his grin when he catches Yeosang's death glare and failing miserably. “It's okay,” he says in what Yeosang is pretty sure is supposed to be a reassuring tone. Read: it doesn't work. “I just—you should've _ seen _ the way your eyes kept bulging. It was so fucking funny—”

Yeosang resists the painfully real urge to kick his best friend right between his legs, instead opting to whine, “_ Please _shut up.”

“Okay, okay,” Wooyoung concedes with a smirk. “But is it really so surprising to see me in this position?”

“What the fu—of _ course _ it's surprising, you dumbass.” Yeosang says dryly even as arousal sparks through him at the sight. Wooyoung has his hands in his lap and looks unfairly gorgeous kneeling in front of him, looking expectant. “I haven't done any of this shit before.”

Wooyoung gives him a cheery smile. “Have you imagined it?”

Yeosang blushes. He totally has, but he isn't about to tell Wooyoung this. “Not really.”

“Aw, really?” Wooyoung pouts, though the look in his eyes is still teasing and _ way _ too knowing. “That's too bad. I can't relate.”

That makes Yeosang's stomach swoop embarrassingly. It's less a product of Wooyoung's constant teasing and more because a silly part of Yeosang finds it hot that Wooyoung is just as attracted to him as he is to his best friend. “Well,” he says weakly, “I guess—I guess I've thought about it once or twice.”

Wooyoung bursts into a bout of giggles again, shaking his head. “Glad you could finally admit that.” Then he licks his lips and leans his head on Yeosang's knee, one of his hands coming up to draw his fingers up his calf, and Yeosang has to hold back a violent shiver. “Do you feel okay with this, though? I'm not moving too fast?”

Yeosang's tempted to point out that it isn't as though Wooyoung's particularly experienced with this, either, but he knows Wooyoung's simply trying to be considerate, which makes him blush even harder for some reason.

Sharing a room together means they've gotten up to way more than necessary over the past week since The Incident. The first time Wooyoung had given him a proper handjob, Yeosang had been a mess underneath him to the point where Wooyoung had to silence him with his fingers in Yeosang's mouth—an embarrassing moment, but hot nonetheless. And every single time Wooyoung kisses him, he asks if it's okay first, if Yeosang's comfortable, and if he wants to slow down a little, to which Yeosang is eternally grateful.

A blowjob, though—that's a lot at once. Yeosang already knows he's going to come way too quickly and tries not to feel embarrassment over it in advance. Even the way Wooyoung looks up at him now, with kind but hooded eyes, makes his cock twitch in his jeans. And the thought of Wooyoung's lips stretched around him, tears pricking at the corner of his eyes, the way Yeosang just _ knows _ he'd love the feeling of Yeosang's fingers tugging at his hair—

“I'm totally, one hundred percent okay with this,” Yeosang promises, cupping Wooyoung's face carefully. His friend leans into it naturally, turning his face to kiss Yeosang's palm. “This isn't too fast. I want it.”

“Good,” Wooyoung murmurs, “Because I want to make you feel nice, Yeosangie.”

His heart does a few flips in his chest at the words. Yeosang is really starting to hate his body's inability to maintain homeostasis whenever Wooyoung says shit like this. “Don't say it like that,” he mutters, and Wooyoung laughs.

“Oops,” he says cheekily, though he doesn't sound apologetic in the slightest. “Okay, c'mere.”

He drags Yeosang down for a kiss. It's a ridiculously awkward angle, but the way Wooyoung hums pleasantly as he sucks on his tongue for a few moments makes Yeosang spread his legs wider instinctively, as though he's trying to invite him in. Wooyoung notices immediately and laughs into his mouth, trailing his hands up his inner thighs and pressing his thumbs into the denim of the jeans. Yeosang whimpers into his mouth, trying to drag him up and closer, and Wooyoung obliges easily.

They kiss like that for a few moments until the need gets unbearable and Yeosang pulls back with a gasp, making a small noise when Wooyoung tries to chase after him instinctively. “Wooyoungie, please,” he says weakly.

Wooyoung reaches out to cup the bulge in his jeans, and Yeosang screws his eyes shut. “You want this really bad, huh?” He murmurs, and Yeosang nods quickly even as embarrassment rushes through him. “You want my mouth on you?”

“Yes,” he gasps, squirming when Wooyoung pops the button open with a delighted smirk on his face. “I want you, Wooyoung.”

“You’ll have me,” his friend murmurs, and then he’s dragging the zipper down and patting his hip to lift himself up and take his jeans off. Yeosang has to resist the urge to hide his face in his hands, feeling suddenly shy as Wooyoung eyes the growing wet spot in his boxers and licks his lips. “Can I?”

_ Can you what_, Yeosang wants to ask, but all he manages to get out is a shaky, “U-um.”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Wooyoung laughs, before he leans in—maintaining eye contact all the while—and mouths at his bulge.

It’s hot and wet, even through the cloth, and Yeosang has to put a hand over his mouth to muffle his involuntary whine as his hips jerk forward. Wooyoung lets one hand massage the skin of his inner thigh as his other hand takes Yeosang’s free one and tangles their fingers together, brushing a thumb over his knuckles soothingly. “_Shit_,” he gasps, as he watches Wooyoung experimentally poke his tongue out, brushing over the clothed head of his cock, and there’s really no way Yeosang is making it out of this alive.

“Can I take these off?” Wooyoung asks, gesturing at him. Yeosang doesn’t trust his own voice enough to properly respond and simply nods jerkily.

“Cute,” Wooyoung mutters to himself, and Yeosang blushes harder, as though that were even possible. Again, Wooyoung helps him take them off, scotting back to pull them all the way off his legs before leaving it off to the side. Then his eyes are on Yeosang’s dick, and—

“God,” Wooyoung groans quietly. “You have such a pretty dick, Yeosangie.”

“Please stop saying stuff like that,” Yeosang begs, “Or I’ll actually explode.”

Wooyoung grins as he leans in. “I’ll say what I want,” he murmurs before he’s wrapping his fingers around his cock, tugging and watching with a bright-eyed gaze as Yeosang groans. “Lift up your sweater for me, pretty,” he says, and Yeosang obeys without a second thought.

For a few torturous moments, Wooyoung simply gives him a quiet, loose handjob, seemingly reveling in the way Yeosang whimpers whenever Wooyoung swipes his thumb over his slit. “Wooyoungie, c’mon,” he says, uncaring of how pathetically needy he must sound. “Give me your mouth.”

Characteristically enough, Wooyoung laughs at him—and before Yeosang can even respond (to beg, maybe), he leans in, steading himself with a hand on Yeosang’s base, and then he kisses the tip of his cock.

It’s a brief sensation that sends sparks up Yeosang’s spine. Wooyoung doesn’t give him time to process anything, either, his tongue poking out to lick over his slit before his lips close around his head.

“F-fuck,” Yeosang groans, voice strained as his cock is enveloped by the heat of Wooyoung’s mouth. Wooyoung hums amusedly around him and it sends vibrations through his cock, forcing him to stifle a whine.

He quickly learns that Wooyoung really, _ really _ enjoys doing this.

His eyes flutter shut after a few moments, to which Yeosang is quietly relieved because he doesn’t think he’d be able to handle any sort of eye contact right now—though the sight of Wooyoung thoroughly enjoying himself as he suckles lightly at the head of his cock is enough to make him moan. And the sensation is overwhelming already, despite barely amounting to anything. Wooyoung slides his mouth down further just as he drags his fingernails lightly over the skin of his inner thighs, and Yeosang is forced to whine pitifully, legs instinctively trying to close over Wooyoung’s head before the younger boy’s hands pry them apart again.

He tilts his head back, succumbing to the pleasure with the hand holding his sweater up covering his mouth as his free hand flies to Wooyoung’s hair—not tugging or pushing, but just cradling his head as Wooyoung sucks sloppily. It feels like a vice grip suction around his cock, and combined with the added weight of Wooyoung’s tongue, swirling and licking when it can, Yeosang _ knows _ he isn’t going to last.

“Wooyoung,” he gasps. His friend pulls off to lick at his slit again before he kisses down the length of his cock almost hurriedly, eyes hooded as he blinks up at him. One of his hands leaves Yeosang’s thigh to cradle his balls, and Yeosang whimpers into his palm. “_Ah_, I—”

“Is it good?” Wooyoung asks quietly, voice already a little hoarse as he licks up the underside of Yeosang’s cock. “Are you enjoying it?”

He feels like he’s burning up completely with the way Wooyoung’s stare pins him into place. His cock jerks in Wooyoung’s hold and the younger boy chuckles. “It’s good,” he manages to get out. “It’s—you’re good.”

Wooyoung gives a pleased hum at that as he leans back in, swallowing him down and going as far as he can—and Yeosang wouldn’t call himself _ big_, so Wooyoung gets pretty far. What he can’t reach with his mouth he makes up for with the way he twists his hand up the base of Yeosang’s cock, and the way his eyes tear up as he gazes up at Yeosang almost expectantly makes Yeosang moan louder than he knows he should, even with the knowledge that they’re alone—

“Please, ‘m gonna come,” Yeosang whines hoarsely. He feels frayed at the edges as Wooyoung makes a low noise around his cock and then sucks even harder than before, and he groans, “Wooyoung, Wooyoung—”

“C’mon,” Wooyoung pants as he pulls off, jerking him off quickly. It’s wet and sloppy and _ loud _ and Yeosang moans brokenly. “Want you to come, Yeosang, c’mon, you can come on my face—”

That’s what does it. Wooyoung barely has time to shut his eyes, flinching instinctively when the first spurt of come streaks across his face, and Yeosang’s vision goes fuzzy with the force of his orgasm as it shakes through him. When he comes to, he’s gasping, curling over Wooyoung and gripping his hair tightly.

“Oh my god,” he says hoarsely, loosening his fingers, though he can’t it in him to lean back. Wooyoung scoots back, and… the sight of his come on his best friend’s face, streaked across his cheeks and lips, is enough to make him whine despite himself, and Wooyoung laughs as he grabs a discarded shirt and cleans himself off sloppily. Yeosang would cringe if he had it in him to do much more than pant and try to calm himself down.

“Was that good?” Wooyoung asks, leaning back in to press a kiss to Yeosang’s forehead. “Not too much, right?”

“Definitely too much, but in a really good way,” Yeosang breathes after a moment. “Holy fuck, I just—Wooyoungie, have you done this before?”

Wooyoung wiggles his eyebrows by way of reply. “Perhaps.”

“Unsurprising, not gonna lie,” Yeosang says dryly, and Wooyoung laughs at this. “... Of course _ you’d _ be the one with practice, you social butterfly.”

Wooyoung pouts. “Be glad I have practice, you bitch,” he complains, though his gaze is soft as he looks down at Yeosang. “I’m gonna go wash up. I don’t think come is a good exfoliator.”

“God, shut up,” Yeosang groans, though he can’t help his grin when Wooyoung laughs again. “Okay, I’m gonna get some water.”

He’s in his head as he makes his way to the kitchen, legs still a little shaky. He grabs one of the few cups in the cupboard and fills it up with water as he reminisces over Wooyoung’s skill and the way he's treated him so _ nicely_, feeling sleepy and satisfied by the time he turns around and—

Jongho’s leaning against the wall next the front door, an indiscernible look in his eyes as he stares at Yeosang. His heart immediately tries to jump out of his throat.

Wooyoung had told him they had several hours of the dorm to themselves before anyone else got back from their individual schedules, yet here Jongho is. There’s a tint of red to his cheeks that betrays the fact that he _ definitely _ heard something, and Yeosang gulps as anxiety courses through him.

“Did you—?” He asks, and Jongho looks away.

“I got back maybe five minutes ago,” the maknae says. “If you’re asking if I heard anything… I did, hyung.”

_ Fuck_, Yeosang thinks, he’s such an idiot. Too into his own head and completely focused on Wooyoung to even notice any sounds from outside, he thinks as he closes his eyes, trying not to mentally beat himself up just yet. “I’m really sorry,” he says shakily.

There’s so much space between them, yet the way Jongho looks back up at him is so intense for a brief moment that Yeosang finds himself flushing with embarrassment. “Don’t apologize, hyung,” he says. “It’s fine. I’ll probably just… head out again. Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Yeosang half-whispers. “You—you do that.”

Jongho hums, looking flustered again as he hunches his shoulders. “I won’t tell anyone,” he promises before he steps out, and Yeosang doesn’t miss the hurt look that flashes over his face. Yeosang doesn’t bother taking his words as any reassurance as he covers his face with his hands, standing underneath the kitchen lights as Jongho closes the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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